


Blood Red Lilies and Baby Blue Cornflowers

by JuliusSneezer



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-01-04 22:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 36,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21205412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliusSneezer/pseuds/JuliusSneezer
Summary: After a tragedy, Germany has caught Hanahaki on behalf of a certain clueless Italian. Germany is determined to keep it a secret. But how long can he do it?





	1. Lillies

**Author's Note:**

> "I'll have this fic posted by the end of summer!"  
-Me, several months ago

Germany sat in his tent, his stare icy as he read the headline in the paper. He was seated at his desk, the surface of the wood littered with assorted pieces of paper, maps, reports, expenses. Death tallies. He noiselessly set the paper down onto the desk, folding his hands and staring ahead. Thinking. He supposed he couldn’t blame him. Who could? Every day seemed like another in hell. They were doomed to lose. So why did his heart ache with something akin to… betrayal? 

He didn’t even look at the flap of the tent as it opened. In his periphery, he caught the olive green of a German uniform.

_“What?”_ He asked. 

“You know I don’t speak German.” Said a familiar, light voice. 

Germany’s heart dropped in his chest. He whipped his gaze onto the person who entered his tent. 

Italy looked unusual out of his trademark blue uniform. He was donned in a German military coat that was clearly too big for him. On his head was a hat similar to Germany’s own. Italy’s curl had been smoothed beneath the cap. His face was heavy with what could have been regret, fear, or a mix of the two. 

Germany stood from his seat at the desk. “Italy.” 

“Germany.” Italy returned, his voice remarkably level with apprehension.

The two paused, both of their minds running far too quickly to work properly. 

“Did you read the news?” Italy asked. 

Wordlessly, Germany nodded. 

Italy paused, scanning Germany’s expressionless face. “Germany-” 

“You need to leave.” Germany interrupted, his voice a low grunt. “You’re an enemy. If you stay, I’m going to catch you.” 

Italy stared at him, his face unchanging. He wordlessly strode up to Germany. He slowly drew closer until there was only a couple feet between them. “No, you won’t.” 

Germany stared down at Italy. Into his determined brown eyes. It was an expression that he had seen increasingly during the war, but one he had still not grown accustomed to. He felt his heart clench painfully as he turned away, sitting behind his desk. He didn’t know why he felt the need to separate him and Italy. 

“Germany, you can do it too.” Italy said, walking over to the desk. “You can leave this. Come with me. We can find Japan and convince him to do it too!”

Germany shook his head. “I can’t.” 

“Of course you can!” Italy’s face was marred with an insistent frown. He planted his hands on the surface of Germany’s desk. “You can surrender. It’s hopeless, Germany. Your boss is dead. Your people are dying.” 

Germany grit his teeth. “I am aware,” he finally looked up at Italy. “That my people are dying!” 

The two countries stared at each other. Italy’s stubborn, sorrowful eyes met Germany’s desperate blue ones. 

Italy’s eyes welled with barely-suppressed tears. “Then just run away with me. I know you’re always telling me not to, Germany, but… I think that for once, the brave thing to do is run.” 

Germany’s glare fell away. “I can’t. I can’t betray my country like that.” 

“Germany, you could die!” A tear escaped Italy’s eye and traced a salty path down his cheek. “Please, I can’t lose you too. I can’t lose Japan. Not after Grandpa Rome and Romano, and…” He removed his hands from the desk, instead using them to wipe away his tears. “I can’t lose you too. You guys are all I have left!” 

Germany was at a loss. He knew the risk. But he couldn’t betray his country. He couldn’t surrender until his government decided he could. “You won’t lose me.” 

“You can’t promise that.” 

Germany nodded. “I know.” 

The two looked at each other again. Their minds both whirred with things they could say. Things they wished they could say. Things that they knew were useless to the situation, but so important to the other. 

Germany stood from his desk, sighing. “You need to leave. I get a lot of foot traffic in my tent. If someone comes in and sees you… escape out the back of my tent. Escape through the tent city. At all costs, avoid the trenches. There’s a military car dispatching for supplies in an hour. If you make it there, you are guaranteed a safe exit.” 

More tears escaped Italy’s eyes as he lurched forward, his arms wrapping around Germany’s waist as he tucked his head under Germany’s chin. “It’s not too late to come with me. You can still get out safely.” 

Germany allowed himself the rare luxury of returning the hug, his throat feeling tight as he felt Italy’s hands curl around the back of his uniform. “I know.” 

Italy tightened his grip momentarily before he suddenly let go, turning without a word and pushing the flap of the tent open. He dropped it behind him, not looking back as he left Germany behind. 

Germany stared at the flap of the tent, wishing more than anything else that he could follow Italy out of that godforsaken camp. That he could follow him into a future like their past. One of naps taken beneath shade trees after a day of hard training. Of Christmases spent together. Of Italy dragging him and Japan out of the tent, insistent on stargazing. He wished that he could follow Italy on whatever crazy adventures he dragged them on next. He was suddenly seized with a choking sensation. He planted a hand on his desk to keep him upright. 

His throat burned as he coughed, hacking harder than what felt normal for a customary cold or sickness. His throat was almost completely blocked with something as Germany coughed and coughed. At last, it was unstuck. Whatever it was, it was stuck to his tongue. His nose wrinkling in disgust, he spit it into his hand. Germany frowned. Whatever it was, it was furled and covered in spit. He gently smoothed it out, his face turning stark white. There in his hand was a single, clean lily petal. 

Newspapers all over the world were proclaiming the news: Germany had finally surrendered to the allied powers. It waved that white flag, its tail between its legs as the country accepted its defeat. However, the world was not in the clear yet. The nation of Japan had not yet surrendered. Indeed, they continued to fight a predetermined battle against the allied powers as it was slowly backed into a corner. According to the entire world, it was only a matter of time before Japan would have to submit to the good guys and end the war. 

Germany sat in the back seat of a car, his brother sitting next to him. Germany stared ahead at the back of America’s chair. Russia was in the passenger’s side, no one in the car attempting to break the thick, hostile atmosphere. Germany glanced out of his periphery. Prussia was sitting with his back ramrod straight, staring ahead evenly. Germany wondered if Prussia was feeling as calm as he looked. He had always been the braver of the two. Germany did not feel brave at all… he hadn’t for a long time. Coughing up that lily petal seemed to turn his world upside down. Thinking logically, he knew it meant that he was… in love with Italy. But, he realized with a pang, it also means that those feelings went unrequited. 

Most importantly, though, he knew he was going to die. It was a fact that he had wrestled with almost constantly since he had coughed up that damn petal. But he cycled through the options on a nonstop loop, only to turn them all away for one reason or another. Normally on this car ride he would have been pondering on what would happen next. What punishment would be dished to him in repercussion. But now, with the knowledge that he was a dead man walking, he knew death was futile. He was unafraid of the two men sitting in front of him. What he was afraid of was already inside his body, slowly killing him. So instead of worrying for himself, he spent his energy worrying for others. He worried for Prussia, sitting next to him. He worried for Japan, currently fighting the war for some reason Germany couldn’t decipher. But most of all, he worried about Italy. When he had surrendered, Germany had gotten no word on what happened to him. This was also a thought that permeated his brain and kept him from sleeping at night. 

They approached the White House, Germany steeling himself for what happened next. He was prepared for death. But pain? That was another story. They parked in front of the building, America turning with a glare. 

“We’re going to get out of the car and get you guys. Don’t try anything funny. Got it?” 

Germany nodded. Like he would anyway. He had run-ins with America, of course. From what he had seen, America was a pretty happy-go-lucky guy. It was strange to see him so muted and hostile. He remained silent as America and Russia left their seats, and he remained still as the door to the back of the car opened. 

Russia was standing there, waiting as Prussia unbuckled his seatbelt and stood. Immediately, Russia reached out and took hold of his arm, his magic metal pipe of pain aimed at the back of Prussia’s head. The two stepped out of the way as America took Russia’s place. 

America pulled his pistol out of his back pocket, pointing it at Germany. “Come quietly and you won’t have to worry about this.” 

Wordlessly, Germany scooted over to the door and stood out of the car. 

“Both hands behind your back.” 

Germany complied, America reaching over and grabbing his wrists with one hand. With the other, he pressed his pistol against Germany’s temple. 

At the steps of the white house were protesters, all carrying signs and shouting at Germany. Insults. Terrible, terrible things. Reminders of all the awful things he had done. Germany didn’t mind them. These people were hurt. Besides, this was no worse than the stuff he told himself every single day. The bodyguards kept the people at bay, following them up the stairs and into the white house. They went through the various halls of the building, their footsteps echoing as they ignored the mutters of passerby. Germany and Prussia were steered past two wooden double doors into what looked like a medium sized conference room. 

France, England, Russia, and China were muttering to each other in a small group. Standing several feet away and looking rather uncomfortable, Canada listened. Leaning against the wall, watching everyone with a wary scowl, was Romano. As they entered the room, the mutterings stopped. Everyone except Romano turned their eyes upon them as they were escorted to a wooden chair. Germany and Prussia sat down wordlessly. 

“Hands behind the back of the chair.” America ordered, not lowering his pistol.

Germany put his hands behind his back, ignoring the wary stares of everyone around them. 

England came forward and tied his wrists together. 

Germany cast his eyes over to his brother, France tying Prussia’s wrists behind him. 

France said nothing, but put a hand on his friends’ shoulder, squeezing lightly. 

Prussia’s stony-faced composure fell into an almost imperceptible frown. 

America finally lowered his pistol, sticking it into his back pocket as Russia stowed his magic metal pipe of pain in his trench coat. “So. Here you are.” 

Germany said nothing, making steely eye contact with him. 

“I wish I could say sorry about your boss, but I’m kinda’ glad the bastard finally died.” 

Germany agreed, but he still stayed silent. 

“Easy, America.” Canada chided as he stepped forward. He looked between the two brothers. “Look, we know you two didn’t want to do what you did. While some of us,” here he glared as America. “Think you should be punished severely, we’ve come to a… compromise of sorts.” 

“Of course,” China began. “This compromise can be changed depending on you two.” 

Prussia raised a single eyebrow. “What do you mean?” 

“All we want is information.” France answered. “Prussia, you can make this a lot easier on yourself.” 

“So your grace can be bought.” Germany summarized. 

England nodded. “Exactly. So we just want you to tell us where Japan is. He still hasn’t given up. His defeat is inevitable, but it would save us a lot of manpower and money if you just tell us.” 

“We don’t know anything.” Prussia said. “We have no idea.” 

“I don’t think you heard me.” England’s voice was suddenly steely. Almost emotionless. He surged forward, seizing the back of Prussia’s chair and tilting it onto its back legs. He leaned forward. “Where is Japan?!” He roared.

Prussia’s composure never faltered. Perhaps he, like Germany, knew that this was just a bad cop act. “You tilting my chair back doesn’t affect what I know. I still know nothing.” 

“Hmm.” England glanced behind him. “Russia.” 

Russia paced over to Germany’s chair, withdrawing his metal pipe of pain. His childlike grin never left his face. 

Germany knew he shouldn’t be nervous. It was just a scare tactic. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but feel threatened by the man beside him. 

“Want to try that again?” England asked. 

Prussia raised an eyebrow, looking determinedly unimpressed. 

“Fine.” 

Russia wordlessly lifted his pipe to Germany’s temple. 

Germany’s heart began racing. What if this wasn’t just a scare tactic? What if this was a very real threat? He knew he would come back to life, of course. But whatever Russia was going to do was guaranteed to hurt. And a shattered skull would mean months spent barely conscious, in immense pain. The medicine they had was insufficient for that degree of injury. Of pain. It was a torture he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. 

“I don’t know anything.” Prussia spat, unprompted. His composure fell away to barely-suppressed fear.

Russia raised his pipe, ready to swing. “You sure?” 

“I don’t know!” Prussia tried, his voice harried with panic. “I swear to God, I don’t know! Do anything you want to me, just don’t hurt him!”

England hummed. “He doesn’t know anything.” He backed away and lowered the front legs of Prussia’s chair back to the ground. “Stand down, Russia.” 

Russia had already stowed his pipe away. He stretched out an arm to pat Germany’s head. “I was not going to hurt you. It was just supposed to be intimidating you.” 

Germany jerked his head away from the cold touch, his chest heaving with residual adrenaline. His fast breathing caused him to cough. It seemed he was feeling more and more congested as the days passed. 

“What the fuck was that?!” Prussia barked, his composure gone. 

“We were not going to hurt him.” China explained. “It was just to get information.” 

Leaning against the wall still, Romano scoffed. Germany was unsure if this was out of doubt or relief. 

“And our punishments are still severe, I assume?” Prussia leaned back in his chair, glaring up at the allies.

Canada shook his head. “They’re not… that bad. All members of the Axis powers will pay steep fines for the damage you caused, of course. Germany, you’ll bounce between America, England, and France’s house for the next decade. You’ll spend a year at a house before you move to the next. It’s just for surveillance. You understand. You have a packing limit of one suitcase and you cannot bring your dogs. There will be no leaving the house except for business. No visits from friends.” 

Germany nodded. That was more than fair. A decade was a long time, but he would survive. It was just house arrest. “Who will take care of my dogs?” 

“I will.” Canada answered. “They’ll do well with Kumajiro, I think.” 

“As for Prussia,” America broke in, his glare steely. “His land will be given to Russia and Poland. Since most of it is going to Russia, you’ll stay at his house for the next decade.” 

Prussia’s face went slack. “Y- you can’t do that.” 

“Why not? You broke the world into pieces. It’s just justice.” America responded. His voice was level and cold. 

Canada glared at his brother. “Hey, easy there.”

Germany could feel his face draining of blood. Prussia was already weak. A blow this large would perhaps have massive, even irreversible consequences. “He could die!” He coughed after saying this.

China shook his head, though he looked uncomfortable. “That is not true. After many years of being divided and put together again, as long as you interact frequently with your people, you will survive for many years. It will hurt, but you will survive.” 

Prussia looked dazed, but he nodded. 

Germany looked over to his brother. He had gotten the short end of the stick. Sure, he would be okay. But the fact of the matter is that getting land taken away from you even the slightest bit felt like torture. He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to have all of your land broken at and divided. 

“Don’t feel bad.” Russia consoled, smiling comfortingly. “Compared to the punishment Italy got, this is small pain.” 

“What?” Germany looked up. “What did you do to him? Where is he?!” 

France looked pained. “We put a cap on his military power. He can only have a limited number of soldiers and weaponry. Forever.” 

Germany glanced disbelievingly at Romano. Italy was already so weak. With this cap, he could be taken down easily. And with all that he had done with his fellow axis, there would likely be other nations seeking revenge. Italy’s death was damn near inevitable. “Even after South Italy went to your side?!” 

“Hey, Romano saved Italy’s ass.” America barked. “If it weren’t for him, he would be off way worse.” 

“You can’t do this! He can’t defend himself! He-” Germany’s sentence was cut off as his air passageway was partially blocked. He coughed harshly, the hacking noises drowning out the conversation that had started around him. Questions of if Germany’s country was already suffering harshly because of his punishment, if they should call a doctor, or if anyone knew the Heimlich. He knew why he was coughing so badly. He just didn’t know why it had to be now, in front of everyone. One last, giant cough. He knew what had landed in his lap, but he just kept his eyes trained on the floor. Laying in his lap were three, pristine white petals. 

A piercing silence, louder even than Germany’s coughing, permeated the room. Seeped into everyone’s very bones.

“Oh, Germany…” France gasped, holding his hands up to his mouth. 

Romano pushed through. His glare loosened. “Lily petals. That’s my national flower.” He looked up to Germany. “My brother…?” 

Germany turned his head away, ashamed. 

“Holy shit.” Romano turned around, his palm coming up to his forehead as he gave way to the other nations. 

“Germany?” 

Germany was unable to stand the sound of Prussia’s voice. It was so fragile. Far too quiet. He pretended he hadn’t heard it. 

“My God.” England stared at Germany. “You’re in love with Italy.” 

Canada pushed through the crowd. “Hey.” He bent over and pulled the petals off of Germany’s lap. He lay a comforting hand on Germany’s shoulder. “It doesn’t matter who it’s for. That’s none of our business. The only thing that matters is where we go from here and what will happen next. The fact of the matter is…” Canada looked down, his voice heavy with pity. “Germany is going to die.” 

Germany willed himself not to flinch. He had told himself this more times than he could count. But somehow, hearing it out loud made it seem like an unavoidable fact. 

“No he’s not.” Prussia’s voice was hard with determination. “Because we’re going to get him the surgery. Obviously.” 

“Like hell we are.” Romano protested, glaring down at Prussia. “That would break my brother.” 

“Well what would break him more? Your brother’s feelings, or my brother losing his fucking life?” Prussia snapped. 

“Hey, easy.” Canada came up behind the two, holding them arm’s distance apart. “We can come up with a solution to make everyone happy.” 

“Has a nation ever died of hanahaki disease?” France asked. 

“Not in my memory.” China answered. He looked unsure. 

“Well I feel like he would come back to life, right?” In the face of a new problem, America’s aggression seemed to have gone down. “He is a nation, after all. He would need to come back to represent the people of Germany.” 

“But let us not forget,” Russia reminded amiably. “Prussia would come to represent the country in the event Germany died… right?” 

“Well maybe.” America shrugged. 

“I’m not sure that’s how it works.” England protested. 

“Isn’t it?” Romano grunted. “After Grandpa Rome died, Italy and I got a lot of his land.” 

“Well this conversation doesn’t matter, regardless.” Prussia declared. “Because Germany will get the surgery.” 

“No.” Germany said. He felt everyone’s eyes on him. He finally looked up. “Let’s review the facts. I am a nation. Nations have died many times in battle. Whether it was from a sword, a bullet, or a bomb, they came back. Surely suffocation is no different. Second, relationships between the nations are already tense as it is. If I did get the surgery and have all my memories of Italy taken away, it would only make things more difficult. Third, even for normal procedures surgeries are risky. Very few hanahaki patients live through the procedure. Though I could survive many other blows, hanahaki surgery on a nation has never been done before. We have no information on it. It is not a risk I am willing to take.” He stated this matter-of-factly. Like his life wasn’t on the line. He needed to distance himself logically. Not allow emotions to impact how he thought of this issue. Besides, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t already decided this before entering the room. 

“Germany,” Prussia began, his voice quiet. “You realize what you’re deciding here, right? The pain… it’ll be unbearable.” 

“I don’t see much of a choice, do you?” Germany asked levelly. “Besides. Maybe after I die the first time it will be gone.” 

“If we tell Italy that you have hanahaki, then Italy will want to do everything he can to stop it. That includes falling in love with you.” Prussia decided. “There’s your choice.” 

“It is not that easy, Prussia.” France sadly shook his head. “Love can never be chosen. It can’t be manufactured. For it to be real love, it has to be true, unselfish affection. The willingness to do anything for them. Only then is it complete, genuine love.” 

“But he would put in effort after knowing.” Russia pointed out. “It would end the suffering faster. Yes?” 

America nodded in agreement. “Yeah. And if they clear the air between each other, everything will just be easier. Everything having to do with the hanahaki among other things. Like damage control and everything that comes after this.” 

China nodded. “That is true. Plus, there are a couple of experimental medicines and procedures we have back at my-“

“-No.” Germany interrupted. 

“Those reasons do make sense, I suppose.” England said. “Then let’s just tell him.” 

“No.” Germany protested.

“It is as I said.” France interrupted. “If little Italy knows that Germany is in love with him and that he has hanahaki, that puts too much pressure on him to truly fall in love. He could try, but it really wouldn’t do anything.”

Romano nodded, leaning against the wall. “My idiot brother is too emotional for his own good. He would cry for days. And knowing him, he would try to fall in love with Germany. It wouldn’t work under all that pressure.” He jerked his head to Germany. “In the end, it’s his decision. They’re his damned feelings. You all would do well to remember that. His freedom is already being taken away. You bastards can’t take his emotional freedom away from him too. It’s fucking inhumane.” 

Germany looked up at Romano. Of all the people in this room, he would expect Romano to be the last one to come to his defense. 

Romano did not catch Germany’s eye, sending a level glare to the allies. “That’s all I have to say about it.” 

Canada nodded. “Alright.” He turned to Germany. “It’s all up to you. You don’t have to come to a decision in front of us.” 

“Now that you know your punishments, this meeting is adjourned-” America began. 

“Wait.” Germany interrupted. “Please. Where is Italy? Where are you keeping him?” 

Romano regarded Germany with a strange expression. “He is staying at my house until further notice. We cannot trust him on his own.” 

Germany nodded. 

“Right.” England said, trying to replace the tense atmosphere with productivity. “Prussia, you will go with Russia. Germany, you’ll start out with France. Separation from your brother is part of your punishment.” 

Germany’s heart dropped in his chest. He had already heard the terms of their punishment, but it was still another tough blow. He blew out a sigh. Who knew what would happen in that decade? Germany was almost certain that he would die. He could potentially come to life, though. But what about Prussia? Would he die? Would Germany be left alone to take on this world alone? Would he learn of this death through a letter while staying at a house that wasn’t even his own? Against his fears, he nodded. 

“Meeting adjourned.” 

“France.” Prussia said as France untied his wrists. “Can I have some time alone with my brother, please? Even for a minute. I just have to say goodbye.” 

“Absolutely not.” England denied. “We’re running on a tight schedule. Besides, your punishment has officially started. This would violate the terms.” 

France untied Prussia, rounding the chair to grab onto England’s arm. “Anglettere, please. Prussia is losing his brother. Surely you understand.” 

England looked over at America, who didn’t notice as he argued with Canada about something under his breath. England sighed heavily. “You have two minutes. Don’t waste them.” 

Germany jerked his fists in front of him after Russia untied him. “Thank you, Britain.” 

England set his watch as the allies filed out of the room. “Your two minutes start now. Security is outside the door if you try to escape.” With a final glance, he turned and shut the door behind him.

Before Germany could tear his gaze away from the door, Prussia came over and grabbed his shoulders. “Ludwig, why didn’t you tell me you had hanahaki?” 

“It didn’t matter.” Germany muttered, avoiding his brother’s piercing gaze. 

“It matters to me. You’re my brother.” 

Germany finally looked up. “Well what could we have done anyway? We just had an entire conversation about our limited options. Besides, you have bigger concerns. You’re staying with Russia for a decade.” 

“Don’t worry about me.” Prussia’s already pallid face turned paler as he said this. “It’s only a decade with Russia. I’ve fared worse.” 

“Don’t be an idiot. Just do what he says and swallow your damned pride.” Germany ordered. 

Prussia shook his head. “You know me, West. I don’t follow directions very well.” 

“Quit screwing around!” Germany snapped. “I’m being completely serious. Russia’s a maniac.” 

“You’re giving him too much credit.” Prussia responded coolly. “He’s no psychopath. He just doesn’t get people.” 

Germany’s brow furrowed. “Just… be careful. Don’t test him.” 

“I won’t.” Prussia said. “And you… God, what do I even say?” 

“Don’t get hanahaki?” Germany asked. 

“Don’t even joke about that.” Prussia snapped. “Just be careful.” 

Germany had no idea of what he could possibly be careful of. He didn’t know if Prussia knew either. “I will.”

Prussia pulled Germany into his chest in a hug, grasping the back of his uniform in clenched fists. Germany returned it, knowing he had to treasure these last moments before they were ripped away from each other. 

Hearing the door open, Germany reluctantly pulled away from his brother. 

“Your time is up.” England said, standing in the doorway. His expression was carefully guarded. Determinedly expressionless.

Prussia nodded, taking a deep breath and leading the way to the future.


	2. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany goes through an entire year at France's house, all while going through denial about his Hanahki. As France watches, will he help in the name of love, or hinder because of the war?

The first year of Germany’s punishment took place at France’s house. The initial couple days were awkward. How could they not be? Not only was Germany being punished for heinous crimes that he didn’t want to commit, but France knew about Germany’s… condition. On top of that, he was just being too damned nice. Germany reflected that he was being nicer than what Germany deserved. Seeking distraction from his current situation, he spent much of the time walking around the house aimlessly, cleaning. Wiping nonexistent dust from the tops of fireplaces. Cleaning unmarked windows. It was a desperate, but ineffective battle to forget what was going on. He often found that as he wiped down counters he would scrub at a stubborn spot for several minutes, often after it had disappeared as he went through the motions. France protested initially, of course, but it seemed that after a bit he recognized that this was some coping mechanism, he only stopped Germany’s nonexistent progress for meals. 

There was much to deal with in the aftermath of the war. Massive stacks of paperwork littered the surface of the kitchen table, which functioned as Germany’s work desk. As time passed and Germany grew weaker, he blew through his work at a quicker rate. He continued to cough up flower petals. Eventually, he just kept a bowl at his feet that he tossed the flower petals into. Eventually, the bowl filled with flower segments. A pestule and a couple of petals. A half-formed bloom. Eventually, Germany would cough up a full flower every few hours. His airway would close off completely. By the time Germany had been there for close to a year, he had completely mastered the self-Heimlich. 

Germany coughed up another flower. He tried to ignore France’s presence as France leaned against the doorway, Germany wiping the blood off his lips with a napkin that sat crumpled on the surface of the table. He took a sip of hot tea, swished it through his teeth and around his mouth, and swallowed the residual metal tang that sat on his tongue. It was a taste that was sickening. One he had not yet grown accustomed to. He turned back to his work. Perhaps if he ignored France for long enough, he would go away. 

“Germany, why don’t you go upstairs and lie down? I’ll bring you your paperwork.” France offered in a soft tone from the doorway. 

“No.” Germany rasped. His throat was so, so raw these days. He could hardly even get these words out. He reached forward and took a sip of his hot tea, desperate for some relief. The amount of tea he was consuming these days was absurd. 

“I think your paperwork can wait. Have you seen yourself, Germany? It may be time to just take a break. How much have you gotten much done today?” 

Germany furrowed his brow at his paperwork. He had seen himself. He was so, so weary these days. So frail. His reserve of energy had depleted dramatically. Even the menial tasks he could get done within a few minutes before made him short of breath. He couldn’t slick his hair back without sitting down to take a break. He knew that deep within his lungs, a virtual jungle of lilies had planted themselves within his lungs, roots digging into the soft walls of his lungs. Digging within his flesh, siphoning precious oxygen from his blood. He was in constant, damn near unbearable pain. Every breath was a labor, sending pain pulsing in his chest. Every task was a burden, taking up the precious little oxygen he could keep for himself. His hair was lank and dull. His skin was pallid and sallow. The only reason he was shaved was because France had forced him into a chair with little difficulty and done it himself. Though it was a fierce blow to his pride, he was grateful that France could afford him the little dignity of a shaved face. “Very little.” 

France sighed. With light, slippered steps he crossed the kitchen and took a seat next to Germany at the table. Pulling an elastic off his wrist, he tied his hair back. “Germany, I’m sorry to say, but… you must face it. You’re dying.” He looked up, blue searching blue. “You need to rest.” 

Germany stared down at his paperwork, not processing the words on the page. What was he reading about again? “I know.” 

“Come with me, we can lay you down. At least get you a little more comfortable.” France proposed. 

Germany shook his head. 

“Germany?” France furrowed his brow. 

Germany offered no response. 

“Germany? Look at me. It’s okay.” France’s tone was pitying. It was soft. Almost like he was talking to a startled animal. 

Germany looked up at France, his face determinedly expressionless. Determinedly stone. Like his brother’s. God, he missed his brother. 

“Are you afraid?” 

Germany shook his head ‘no’. He was afraid. He’s never been more scared in his life. 

France slowly reached forward and grasped Germany’s shoulder. 

Germany expected to flinch at the touch, but he found that it was actually soothing. 

“Germany… you’re dying. You’re in immense pain. This is your first time dying, yes?” 

Germany nodded wordlessly. 

“Exactly. You’re doing it in a very painful, very slow way. I would be concerned if you weren’t afraid, frankly.” 

What was Germany supposed to feel? He was touched, of course. He was afraid. He was in pain. And this affection from France, this almost brotherly connection that he needed so sorely… it caused his throat to ache. His breath coughed at the sensation, hacking dryly. He vaguely perceived France’s hand between his shoulder blades as he continued to cough. The irritation subsided, the force of his coughs combined with the pain he felt being enough to prompt a reluctant tear from the corner of Germany’s eye. He gazed down as it traced a tear down his cheek and dripped into a palm flecked with blood. The two mixed together. A sickening, pink liquid. “Why am I crying?” He croaked, his vision blurring slightly. “I don’t cry.” 

France swallowed heavily, releasing Germany’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s lie down.” 

Germany nodded, feeling distant as he stood, allowing France to lead him. The progress was painstakingly slow. It seemed that every several feet, Germany would have to stop and lean against a wall to catch his breath. The stairs were another hell, him making several steps up before having to lean against the railing of the painfully long spiral staircase to desperately suck in oxygen. As he ambled along, Germany wondered to himself how much longer he had. It was obvious to him that he wouldn’t be alive much longer. How could he be? He finally collapsed into a silk-covered bed, his lungs expanding and deflating shallowly, his throat desperately raw from trying to breathe. France paced across the room to an elegant chair and dragged it across the carpeted floor, next to Germany’s bed. 

He took a seat, gazing with forced calm out the window. “Sunset. Beautiful, isn’t it? You know, back when I was a young country, England and I fought a lot… or at least, we fought more than we do now.” He smiled to himself. “I was quite the instigator back then.” 

“Was?” Germany croaked.

France gave a noncommittal shrug. “Am quite an instigator. Back when we were younger, we would fight. But whenever it was sunset, I forced England into a temporary truce. Just until it was over. He would growl over it, but he would take a seat next to me on the grass and stay somewhat silent until it was over. Eventually it just fell into daily routine. Not that we spent every day together, of course. But whenever we did, we would put a pause on whatever silly quarrel we had to watch the sunset.” He looked at Germany. “Quite out of character for him, don’t you think?” 

Germany gave a slight nod. It seemed quite strange for no-nonsense, all-business England to take the time to observe a sunset. 

The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion. Germany remained in bed, France regaling stories from his past. About him and England, about his romantic conquests, about times that he had led confused tourists on adventures around France. He only stopped his tales when he got up to get some food for Germany to turn down, or hot tea which he gulped down. It was later in the day when Germany realized that France’s stories all had one common trait: They were all happy stories. France was trying to ease Germany in this time of strife. Germany was lulled into a calm, eventually falling into a turbulent sleep as he listened to France talk about that one time he and China had a great cook-off that devolved into a joking duel of China’s wok against France’s rolling pin. 

Germany didn’t know what time it was when his mouth gaped open for a breath he couldn’t receive. He felt something sliding up the slick walls of his throat, silken petals and rough stems agitating the raw areas. Cutting off his airway. He looked desperately over to where France sat, hoping that somehow his captor could help him. Every light in the room was off except the lamp on the bedside table, France having fallen asleep. His lap was littered with paperwork – Germany’s paperwork. 

Germany’s observations were cut off by the intense desire to breathe. The desperation for oxygen as his heart pumped like a steam engine. It was a need that completely consumed him, but one that he was unable to fulfill. Even through all this panic, he thought of his brother. He thought of Japan. He thought of Italy. In a fleeting moment of terror, he realized he would never say goodbye to the few people he truly cared about. As he felt leaves and stems scratching the roof of his mouth and tongue, his vision went dark. 

Germany gasped for breath, his chest heaving as his head lay back against the pillow. He caught his breath. He let out a sigh of relief as he realized that he could breathe properly for what felt like the first time in weeks. It was, of course, but he had no idea how long he was out. Despite himself, he felt the corners of his lips lift slightly. He was alive. He came back alive from this. It wasn’t the end. He would still see his brother and friends. There was still hope. Germany heard distant footsteps sprint from downstairs, up the spiral staircase, and down the hall. 

France was standing in the open doorway, his chest heaving with the exhaustion of sprinting up the stairs. His lips split into a wide-open, genuine grin. “Germany! You’re awake!” 

“I’m alive.” Germany shook his head, still relishing the luxury of full, satisfying breaths. “How am I still alive?” He looked up at France, taken aback at what he saw. 

France’s usually flawless skin was marred with dark circles under his eyes, the skin hanging loose on his face. His scruff was longer than what he usually allowed. His hair, slightly greasy, was pulled back away from his face in a messy bun. 

France smiled slightly as he noticed Germany’s facial expression. “It’s a new look I’m trying out.” 

Germany hummed. Clearly, France was lying. Germany realized that France had probably not spent much time away from his bedside since he died. “Why am I alive?” 

“I’m not sure.” France shrugged, sitting again in his chair. “Your body didn’t dissolve after you died. I figured that since your people’s culture was still alive, you would bounce back from this the same way other nations did from bullet wounds and such.” He grimaced. “So I pulled those damned flowers out of your lungs and threw them in the garbage.” 

Germany blinked. He forced away the mental picture of France pulling those things out. “… thank you.” 

France stood, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “Don’t mention it. Really, don’t. If you still have an appetite after hearing that, I can make us both some breakfast.” 

“Breakfast sounds good.” Germany threw the silk blanket off his legs, absently noting that he was wearing pajamas that he did not own… he pushed that thought away as he followed France down the stairs. Much to his dismay, he felt a sickening itch at the very back of his throat. 

He only had a week to get to know France before he had to go to England’s. He had figured out that France was thoughtful. How could he not be after taking care of Germany for so long? But as the week passed, France only seemed to break every other expectation Germany had of him. He was more than the basic playboy, it seemed. He had intriguing, out of the box thoughts about culture. Current events. He knew eight different languages and played the clarinet. He enjoyed a bit of cooking in his spare time. He had visited every art museum in his country at least five times, though it was usually to people watch. 

Much to his surprise, Germany found that he… regretted leaving France’s house. He packed his belongings in a backpack on the last day, swinging it on his shoulder and taking a last look in the room. He made sure everything was nicely cleaned. He ensured that he made the bed. How the hell did you make a bed with a silk blanket without making wrinkles? He thumped down the elegant spiral staircase, looking at France as he walked into the kitchen. “According to the letter, the car should be here any minute.” 

France looked up from the bowl he was stirring in, his whisk coming to a standstill. He put down the bowl, reaching across the counter and grabbing a brown paper sack. “Here.” He crossed the kitchen and handed it to Germany. 

Germany took it, raising a questioning eyebrow. 

“Snacks.” France explained, smiling. “England’s food is unbearable, you know. I figured I would send you with a few things to tide you over.” 

“Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.” Germany decided then that France’s attitude was almost… motherly. He wondered how he had missed those attitudes when France was spending time with his brother and Spain. 

“Well… yes, I suppose it was.” France waved a hand. 

Germany shook his head with a slight smile. “France, you’re not half bad.” 

France clasped his hands together, playfully holding them up to his scruffy cheek. “Why, Germany, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!” 

Germany shook his head again. 

“Do you have everything packed?” France asked, dropping his hands. 

“Yes.” 

The two froze at the sound of a car pulling down France’s gravel driveway. 

France led him to the door. “A word of advice: England looks like a brute, but he isn’t too bad… don’t tell him I said that.” 

Germany smiled slightly, holding out his hand. “Well, it appears this is it. Thank you for everything.” He stuck out his hand. 

France shook his hand, the other hand coming up and patting Germany on the cheek. “No need to sound so final,_ mon ami._ Two more years, and you’ll be back here. You’re not quite rid of me yet.” 

Germany blinked. He hadn’t expected France to pat his cheek. He raised a hand in farewell as he opened the door. “Thank you, France.” 

“It was a pleas- I mean… hell, you make it difficult to remember that we were enemies, Germany.” France said. 

Germany offered a thankful smile as he descended the steps, drawing every closer to the next, unpredictable year of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love and Appreciate France 2k20


	3. Reluctance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an unexpectedly amiable year at France's house, Germany is transported over to England's house for the next year. How will England react to Germany's hanahaki? Could the two nations possibly get along after all that happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late chapter, this week was VERY heavy in homework. Ah, well.

A suited agent stepped out of the passenger side door of the car, aiming a handheld gun at Germany. “Get in the car quietly. Try anything funny, and I’ll shoot.” 

Germany side-eyed the agent as he slowly stepped toward the door and opened it, sliding in the backseat. The first thing he registered was the tan interior. The second, the driver of the car. He was turned around, another black handgun aimed at Germany. The third, as Germany set his bag on the floor at his feet, was that England was on the other side of the backseat. 

“… Hello.” Germany said, unsure. 

England seemed to have not heard him, his gaze following France’s progress as he shut the door. “What?” 

Germany snapped his fingers in front of England’s gaze. “What are you doing here?” 

England jumped slightly with surprise. He considered Germany, his shock subsiding. “Oh. Sorry. I figured I could use the International Road. No reason to put you through an entire day in a stuffy car. Plus, after the scare I gave you and your brother last year, it was just the right thing to do.” 

“The right thing to do would be to not threaten us with Russia’s pipe in the first place. Besides, you caught Japan in the end without information from us.” Germany grunted.

England sighed. “We’re off to a good start then. Brilliant.” 

“Speaking of Russia,” Germany began as the car began to roll down the driveway. “How is my brother doing?” 

England side-eyed Germany. 

“Asking for an update isn’t against the rules, is it?” 

England paused, considering. “He’s okay. Russia hasn’t had violent tendencies for a long while now. At any rate, physical punishment was forbidden. America goes in to check on them every now and again. The two are beginning to get used to each other, strange as it sounds.” 

Germany raised an eyebrow. He knew the history between Russia and his brother. He also knew that Prussia tended to hold grudges. So it was a bit of a shock to hear that the two were getting used to each other. “Really?” 

“According to the last letter Russia sent.” 

Germany hummed, looking away as he was filled with a sense of relief. His brother was okay. And, it sounded like he wasn’t miserable. He turned back. “And Japan?” 

“He’s in a similar position to you.” England said. “He’s bouncing between our houses. He was just over at my place. He left for America’s this morning.” 

Germany grunted. “That should be an interesting dynamic. Especially since America bombed Japan so recently.” 

England simply hummed in response. “And you’re sure you didn’t know where he was? Why he kept fighting?” 

“Of course not. My boss was the one who started it. I was almost sure that the minute I surrendered, Japan would soon follow. I was honestly shocked when he didn’t.” 

England hummed again, the two lapsing into a silence as they drove on. 

“What about Canada?” 

“Canada?” England asked, apparently surprised that he came up in conversation. 

“He has my dogs.” 

England nodded. “Oh. Yes. Apparently they’re getting on quite well with that polar bear of his. Berlitz has taken a special liking to him.” 

Germany also nodded, facing the window once again. So far, attitudes toward the two were far more relaxed. Business-like, certainly, but not as hostile as they were the last time they met. Germany had always thought that there were many similarities between the two. They were both introverted. They both valued work. Surely the next year wouldn’t be too difficult. Though Germany had still not forgiven England for threatening him and his brother, he hadn’t forgotten about those last few minutes he had allowed him to spend with his brother. He hadn’t forgotten about that small grace he had afforded them after they had committed terrible, terrible crimes against the world. Perhaps the next year would not be too bad. 

As it passed, Germany found that this was true. The relationship between the two was rather like two roommates who weren’t exactly friends, but who didn’t mind each other. They unintentionally avoided each other, the both of their tasks and daily to-do-lists separating them from each other. Germany found a home in England’s extensive library, burrowing himself within large stacks of history books, classic novels, and instruction manuals. Though he would have normally perused the occasional romance, he found that he could not stomach this genre anymore. It brought his unwilling mind back to a dark place he seemed to spend every waking moment avoiding. He would occasionally do paperwork, but he found that there was less to do than last year. The two of them only met up for meals and an occasional afternoon tea, though they would both sit at the table, noses in their books. 

After his third month at England’s place, Germany found that he began coughing. In the rare occasions that he did it in front of England, the other nation would simply ignore it, clear his throat, and turn a page in his book. Germany was thankful for England ignoring his coughs. It made a small deal out of something so big to him. He much preferred this to the long, lingering looks of pity he would receive from France when he was back at his house, charming and thoughtful as France was. As the months passed, Germany coughed up petals more and more frequently. At this, England would look up before redirecting his gaze to his book. By the time the eighth month rolled around, he had coughed up his first flower. He opened the nearest window and tossed it out into the grass, thankful that England was not in the room. The last thing he wanted was for someone to pity him again. He was a grown man. A nation. He didn’t need to be coddled like a toddler. 

Germany was sitting at the desk in the guest bedroom a month later, bent over some paperwork. It had been a couple days since he had been downstairs for anything except meals, for fear that he would cough up a flower in England’s presence. Just as he was about to sign his signature on another waver and move on, he felt a dreaded blockage in this throat. He knew that this was another full lily. He gasped for breath, coughing desperately as he performed the self-Heimlich on himself. Just as he was running out of air, it flew out of his mouth. Germany gasped for breath he could barely receive. It was only the ninth month. By the time his hanahaki had been this bad, he was at twelve months. He looked at the lily that landed on his desk. The pure white of the middle of the flower faded into a slight pink on the edges of the petals. The initial petals that he had coughed up were pure white. So, being the logical man he was, he deduced that the more pigmented the flower got, the more blood and oxygen the flower was absorbing. He was limited on time. 

A knock on the door ripped Germany out of his reverie. “Come in.” He rasped. The irritation on his throat was almost enough to get him coughing all over again. 

England opened the door, balancing a saucer and a small cup on one hand. “Tea?” 

Germany raised an eyebrow, but he nodded. In the three days he had been up here, this is the first time England had come up to offer tea. He suddenly wondered if his coughs and desperate breaths had been louder than he thought. 

England paced over and set the saucer on the desk, his green eyes landing on the flower that had landed on his desk. He hummed a silent question.

“It’s only the first one.” Germany answered. “I’m fine.”

England raised an eyebrow, wordlessly rounding the desk and looking in the trashcan on the left side. Inside were several flowers, a couple of them near the bottom wilting. “Apparently not.” He looked back up at Germany. “Why don’t we bring your work downstairs? I have a desk in the sitting room.” 

“Why?” 

“These flowers are pretty big.” England contemplated the one on the desk. “It isn’t a good idea for you to be alone. You could choke.” 

Germany avoided those searching eyes, turning back to his paper and signing the waver. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Well I don’t want you to choke to death.” 

Without even looking over, Germany could hear the pity in his tone. God, why couldn’t people just leave him to deal with this on his own? This was a personal affair and the others had no right to meddle. “I’ll die anyway, what difference does it make if I do it now?” He didn’t mean it, of course. He had just saved his own life a couple moments ago. He wouldn’t die early. He knew he wouldn’t let himself. He knew that he was being a petulant child. Throwing a tantrum like a toddler. Perhaps he was selfish, brushing off England's selfless concern. But there was something incredibly frustrating about a repetitive problem he could not fix. It caused him to lash out as if it would do something to help. He knew it wouldn't. But like a kettle blowing steam, it released some trapped pressure within him. It did nothing to help his problem, though.

One that he figured out would last forever. 

There was a long, deep silence as England just stared at him. He finally looked away, taking a seat on top of the desk. “I get letters from Spain, you know. About Italy.” 

Germany’s frown loosened, as did his grip on the pen. God, Italy. That man had been occupying his thoughts nonstop. Thoughts of his hair. His laugh. His selfless concern and affection for him and Japan. In the years that followed their separation, he was unable to stop himself from thinking of past memories like one ponders on a pleasant dream. An ache in his heart grew to wash over the one in his throat as he considered who they used to be. What had transpired between them. Italy interrupting his work to play football, initially bothersome and childish, were now realized as attempts to get Germany away from his work. Periods of time for him to step back and breathe. All his life, his brother had told him that he spent too much time within his own head. Too much time within his own thoughts. If he spent so much time in his own head, how had he failed to notice and process the gifts Italy was giving him through his actions? The regret made Germany want to go back in time and shake himself. Tell himself to put down the pen. To go outside and kick around the football. To see how Italy received the sun. Then he would cough flowers and his reverie would be interrupted, almost for a minute. It was almost enough for him to be thankful for the illness. 

Almost. 

England crossed his arms. “He helps Spain and Romano with the tomatoes… when he isn’t napping in the sun, under the shade of the trees… he’s getting tan, too. Not as tan as his brother, but he’s almost looking back to his normal self. Before the war. He cooks for them every day, too. Spain says it’s nice to have a break from making all the meals. Romano acts like he doesn’t want Italy there, but the two are thick as thieves. They don’t do anything without each other.” England stared ahead at the opposite wall. “He asks about you and Japan all the time.” 

Germany’s eyes widened with dread as he looked up at England. “You didn’t tell him, did you? You didn’t tell Spain.” 

England frowned down at Germany. “Of course I didn’t bloody tell him. That’s your business. Not mine.” 

Germany paused, then nodded. He looked back down at his paperwork. He flipped to a new page, scanning the page but not reading it. 

“As far as Italy knows, you’re completely fine. Your biggest struggle is that you get bored… he really misses you, you know.” 

Salt in the wound. Italy missed him. He asked about Germany… but yet here Germany was, coughing up petals from a love that went unrequited.

“Germany, I know it’s small comfort, but-” 

“I don’t want it.” Germany interrupted, not looking up. “Thank you for the tea.” He was unsure what it was within him that wanted England gone. He didn’t know why he was pushing him away. He just knew that he wanted to be alone. Alone with his thoughts, far too inside his own head. Alone with his memories. Maybe now that he has nothing to do, he can turn over the memories again. Continue to find the hidden acts of kindness. Sometimes it felt like they were all he had. 

England paused for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.” He pushed off the desk, walking over to the door. He paused within the frame, pausing as if he wanted to say anything. But he closed his mouth and left the room without closing the door. 

Germany kept his head down. He listened as England’s footsteps faded down the hallway. He stood, looking around the guest bedroom. He looked at the wardrobe. He glanced at the bed. His gaze finally landed on the window, his feet automatically drawing him forward. He wasn’t allowed outside. God, he missed the outdoors. He pushed the window open. The fresh air that hit his face gave him more relief than he thought possible. He leaned against the windowsill, sticking his head out the window. The moon was out that night. The autumn in England was lovely. But Germany did not notice as his mind was occupied by thoughts much too loud to notice the surrounding beauty.

He lay in bed, dying a month later. He didn’t want the same drama he suffered over at France’s place. When he got to the point that his weakness prevented him from doing anything, he resigned himself to his bed. It started earlier this time. A month early. He didn’t tell England, but to his credit England showed up when Germany did not arrive downstairs for lunch.   
England peered through the open door to the room. Ever since the incident last month, England enforced the only rule all year – the door had to stay open. He never mentioned why, but Germany knew that it was so England could keep an ear open for any more choking. “Lunch is ready.” 

Germany looked over at England from the pillow. “I can’t get downstairs.” This was all he said. Nothing about how he could hardly breathe. Nothing about how he hasn’t been able to keep anything except soup down in almost a week. Nothing about how he couldn’t drink anything except for tea. Really, his inability to get down the stairs was the least of his problems. But his mouth stayed resolute shut, the confessions of his pain crowding against the back of his teeth. 

England paused, then nodded. “Right. I’ll bring you a plate.” 

Germany hated accepting help. But he knew that if he didn’t, he would starve to death. Slowly dehydrate. Over the next month, England helped him. But he helped him in a different way than how France had done it. He propped Germany up against the headboard so Germany could do his work on his own. He brought over cups and bowls of water so Germany was able to brush his teeth on his own. He helped Germany with his day-to-day life, but he did it in a way where Germany was able to do them. Though he was still able to do things that he had been unable to do the previous year, Germany still felt helpless. Weak. All the amendments in the world couldn't change the fact that he was anchored to the bed. That he was held back by the dreaded plants in his lungs.

England grabbed the flower bowl sitting on Germany’s lap. It was near full. He went over to the window to dump them out. “France sent me a letter. He said that you’re… worse off now than you were at his place. What’s the difference?” 

Germany coughed into his hand. “I don’t know.” His voice was raw. 

“Were you thinking of Italy more often or something?” 

That was the answer exactly. Germany turned away, not wanting to admit it. He had hoped that being separated from Italy for long enough would make his condition go away… but it just made it worse. He clung to every memory like a lifeline, remembering every detail to the best of his ability. Watching it in his mind's eye like a film on repeat, analyzing every last detail. THe man was a phantom constantly on the edge of his mind. 

England sighed. “I wish you would stop acting so ashamed. It’s just love.” 

Germany chose not to reply. 

“All the countries fall in love sometimes.” England tried, sitting on the edge of Germany’s bed. 

Germany furrowed his brow, looking over. “Then why am I the only one with Hanahaki?” 

England just offered a shrug. “We don’t know too much about it. It’s inconsistent. We don’t know why, but it only affects a few cases of unrequited love.” 

Germany nodded, swallowing the pain. What were the chances? 

”I’m sorry.” England said. “Comforting people isn’t my forte.” 

“It isn’t mine either.” Germany responded. 

“I guess I mean to say… if I weren’t so damned British, I would just start by saying that I understand. And that I want to help. Even if you are technically a prisoner.” 

Germany looked back up at England. “Thank you.” 

“Is there anything I can do?” 

Germany shook his head. “I suppose no more than what you’ve been doing. That’s been the biggest help. Just doing things on my own.” 

“Hm.” England nodded. He looked out the window absently. 

Germany continued to look at England. He was so much older than Germany was. With how old England was, what was the chance that he had never fallen in love? Surely they were astronomical. If he were more impulsive, perhaps he would have asked. 

England looked back at him, raising a single bushy eyebrow. “Someone’s lost in thought.” 

Germany averted his gaze, his face feeling heated. 

“This has to be the first time I’ve ever seen you blush.” England sounded amused. 

“Don’t antagonize me.” Germany grunted, his face flushing still. 

“What were you thinking about?” 

Germany was about to speak, but instead coughed into his elbow. 

England clutched the bowl to his chest. He looked alert, like a deer in the headlights. Like any second he was prepared to come over with the bowl like it would somehow help something. Like it would somehow make a difference.

Germany was relieved to only cough up a single flower petal. Not bad, he supposed. “Nothing.” 

England raised his eyebrow again.

“I was thinking about… you, I suppose.” 

“Oh.” England looked surprised. “Should I be flattered?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Well let me hear about it and decide.” 

Germany cleared his throat, sitting back against the headboard. “I guess I was wondering if you’ve ever been in love before.” 

England didn’t look surprised. He just nodded. “Hm…” 

“Of course, you don’t have to answer. It’s very personal, and it’s not like I was going to ask anyway.” 

England nodded again. 

The silence as the two thought was near unbearable. It appeared that England's willingness to comfort had a limit. Perhaps Germany had overstepped that line. 

“Do you want a cup of tea?” 

“Please.” 

England wordlessly got up and left. 

Germany dropped his forehead to his palm. England had been kind to him. He had taken his time, his resources, his property, and hosted Germany with far more grace than what he deserved. Especially after what he had done. Now here he was, scaring his gracious host away. Great. He leaned back against his headboard. He sighed, this prompting him to start coughing again. He hacked away, each contraction to his throat causing it to flare up in pain. God, he wouldn’t wish this condition on his worst enemy. Already, he could barely choke down food without that prompting a coughing fit. He looked at the wall in front of him, his mind far too occupied to pay attention to it. He gave himself a week at longest before the hanahaki took him again. He shut his eyes. So this was it. For all of eternity. 

England opened the door, holding two saucers with dainty teacups filled to the brim. “I also have toast if you want some.” He offered. 

Germany peered over, shaking his head. “No thank you.” His voice was gravelly from the coughing fit. 

England hummed. He passed Germany the tea, sitting down on the rickety old chair next to his bed. Coming from the kitchen, it looked remarkably out of place in his room. 

Germany awkwardly sipped the tea, resisting the urge to chug down the entire cup. The tea, however temporarily, provided relief from the fiery pain in his throat. It took everything in him to not dump the contents of the cup down his searing throat, begging England for more. But instead he took his little sips. 

England sipped his as well, looking out the window from his chair. “We’ve all been in love before. If they tell you any different, they’re lying buggers.” 

Germany nodded. 

“The worst is when you fall for another country, though.” England nodded. “There’s been a lot of times that I’ve wished I was human, but falling for a country takes the cake.” 

Germany blinked at his bedspread. He coughed into his hand. Briefly, he wondered who this country was. He wondered if England still felt for this country, whoever they were. He had an idea, but he dismissed it before he could truly contemplate. It was none of his business. Instead, he considered the second part of what England had said. There had been plenty of times he himself had wished he were human. Italy had expressed the same interest. Japan had said nothing during this conversation, but everything behind that blank brown gaze told Germany what he needed to know. He was certain that every country had felt the same at least once. He knew that humans looked at immortality as if it were some sort of great missed chance. The answer to their problems: More time. Guaranteed time for all eternity. Germany had only lived barely more than a full human existence. But already he knew that immortality would be the greatest taunt of all. A cruel prank from whatever deity there was out there. To watch his people live and die around him, leaving him behind. To watch a child tug his mother’s hand around, Germany just seeing an eventual gravestone. He wasn’t sure if other nations felt this way. Maybe this constant negativity was from being born of war. Of being torn apart and put together from his very existence. From growing to full adulthood within four years of existence. 

“France was in love with a human once.” England remarked. 

Germany looked up at him. “That’s really none of my-” 

England looked at Germany. “It’s very kind of you to think of him, but he’s never been shy about it. If he were in my place and you asked about falling for someone, she would have been the one he brought up as an example.” Again, he looked out the window. “Ever heard of Joan of Arc?” 

Germany’s eyes widened. “Of course I have. She was someone I looked up to during…” His sentence faltered. 

“The wars.” England finished. Again he turned his gaze on the sick nation. “When you’re immortal, you have to be quick to forgive. Don’t worry about avoiding the subject. Despite what America believes, no one else blames you.” 

Germany avoided the gaze. 

“France was in love with Joan. As you know, France and I weren’t on the best of terms then… but I was far more afraid of her than of him. The woman radiated power in a way that I’d never seen and haven’t seen since. Not in a human, nor even a country. Incredible soldier, and an even better woman. It makes sense that France fell for her… but as you know, she came to a terrible fate. At my hands… indirectly, perhaps, but still. We didn’t talk for ages. Hell, we don’t even talk about it now. Sometimes he acts like he has forgotten her. He acts like he doesn’t visit her memorial statue every year.” England faltered, staring ahead. 

“You blame yourself.” Germany guessed. 

“Every day.” England shook his head. “I didn’t want to. But perhaps I could have done something.” 

“Just as I could have done something about both world wars?” 

England turned his head to Germany. The two considered each other for a minute before both turned their gazes to the window. A barn swallow swooped in front of the window, about to fly into it before it redirected its path at the last minute, chasing some bug invisible to the naked eye. 

“I remember wondering what it was like to fly. Hardly dared to believe it when the Wright Brothers invented the air plane.” 

“Me too.” 

“And now we can.” 

Germany grunted. “Wonder what we can do in another hundred years.” 

England hummed in agreement, sipping on his tea. “It’s a good life, Germany.” 

Germany sipped his tea as well, finishing off the cup. Perhaps it could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course the two get along. I'm no dummy.


	4. Aggression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a much-needed year at England's house, Germany must journey over to America's. Will America's resentment and lack of compassion bring Germany's internalized rage to the surface?

Though he tried to suppress the thought, he couldn't help but considert he awkwardness of his current situation. He was sitting in a car next to a seething America in the back seat. The two drivers in the front glanced back at Germany in the rearview mirror occasionally, blowing away any hope Germany had of having a private conversation with the country. While Germany's seperation from England hadn't exactly been tearful, he already found himself missing the guarded nation. Germany didn’t die alone at the end of that tenth month at England’s. England sat there, his face ghastly white as he talked calmly to Germany. Germany had no idea what England had said during those last terrifying moments of life. He could barely register the calming sound of his level voice over the wheezing of his chest. Over the sound of his coughs. His grunts as he succumbed to a ghastly pain. 

Those two remaining months were different. The two never mentioned the death. England had treated Germany as if he had woken up from a long nap, offering him breakfast and talking about some paperwork that had come in. The two got along as they did before, with slightly lowered walls. They held conversations during meals instead of confining themselves to books. Instead of Germany holing up in England's library, the two sat in the common room. Together, they did their own solitary tasks. All in all, it wasn’t a bad two months. Still, Germany wished he could have spent his time there normally instead of succumbing to death in the way he did. 

He was shocked out of his musings as the car began to bounce on gravel. Germany peered out the window with interest. He had never been to America's house. The house was bigger than any other countries’. The architecture was obviously inspired by the white house, the spotless white exterior supported over a huge porch by blank columns. A rather dramatic staircase led up to the two large double doors. Lining either side of the driveway were neat hedges, trimmed to perfection. The car rolled to a stop, Germany swallowing something down. He wasn't sure what it was, but some sudden animalistic instinct in him told him to turn tail and run. To never come back. To go anywhere without a building and relish the wind. The rain. To walk in the grass without shoes for once. 

Like Italy did. 

Perhaps Germany was going stir crazy. 

“You get out of your door, I’ll get out of mine.” America instructed. 

Germany nodded, cracking open his door. He hefted his bag on his shoulder as he stood. He watched as America rounded the back of the car, expecting him to continue his path up to his house. Instead, he was surprised to see America stop in front of him. America's blue, searching eyes settled upon him like he was waiting for something.

“What?” Germany found that he had to work to keep his voice nonchalant. He wasn't sure what it was, but something made him want to snap at America. Get him to leave him alone. 

“Lead the way.” America prompted. 

Germany turned toward him, his gaze lowering to America’s fingers as they twitched toward his back. He turned his gaze back up, recalling that America had a habit of tucking his pistol between his belt and his pants. “Really?” 

“No telling when you’re going to run, man.” 

Germany sighed through his nose, but said nothing as he turned to the house and began the trek to the steps. He stepped up the stairs, drawing closer and closer to the top of the porch. He stopped and faced the driveway and yard. He relished these last few moments he would have outside before he would return to his prison. Shutting his eyes, he relished the feeling of the sun on his skin. Of the wind caressing the sharp features of his face. If he really tried, it was like he could remember a better time. He wasn't sure if he could remember freedom. 

He couldn't decide if he had ever truly been free. 

“Get a move on. It’s too late to escape.” America prompted Germany with his gaze. 

Germany grunted at him, finishing the walk to his prison. This was going to be a long year. 

Indeed, he was correct. The first two weeks were… interesting. Wherever Germany would go, America would not be far behind. He would go to the living room to read a book, America coming in to join him not five minutes later under the pretense of listening to the radio. He could go to the kitchen to refill his glass of water, America following to grab a snack. The only place Germany could snag a few moments’ peace was up in his room, but even then he had a time limit of five minutes to get what he needed. He was allowed in his room during the night for rest, but even then he was locked within his own quarters. Perhaps it was stubborn of him to regard this solitude negatively, but even this felt like part of America's game. To give him what he truly wanted, to be truly alone, and to lock him alone in a room with himself. For hours with only his thoughts to keep him company. 

At first, Germany took this to be an intimidation tactic. A temporary arrangement intended to let Germany know who the boss was before America finally backed off. But no. It had been two weeks and Germany had hardly been left alone. It was starting to grate on his nerves. These thoughts prompted him to peer over the top of his book. To settle his gaze on his captor as America sat in front of the radio and listened to the tinny voice coming through the speakers. Though they were in the sitting room, a communal area, the very presence of the man set his teeth on edge. He put down his book, grabbing his empty glass from the coffee table. He coughed in his hand as he stood, ignoring America as he stood and left the living room to refill his cup. He’d hardly entered the room when America paced in behind him. 

Germany sighed, slamming the glass down. “What do you want?” 

America glared, apparently undisturbed by this outburst. “I came in here for an apple.” 

“Your third one today?” Germany grunted doubtfully. "Very convenient how you're only hungry when I need to refill my glass." 

“Look, okay? You tore the world apart. I don’t know what kind of special treatment you’ve been getting at the others’, but don’t forget you’re a prisoner under _strict security._” America bit out.

“I haven’t even tried to escape!” 

“Yet.”

Germany growled, turning to face America fully. “I don’t know what you plan to accomplish by tailing me, but all I’m asking is that you trust me to-” 

“Trust you with what?!” America burst, his usually cheerful voice raw with anger. “We can’t trust you with shit! You started both world wars! You’ve ripped us all to shreds twice! What, you want me to count to five and give you a time out?” 

“That wasn’t me.” Germany said darkly. “That was my leadersh-” 

“You’re a grown-ass man, Germany! Grown-ass men feel shame when they do something wrong! Grown-ass men take repercussions, just like the rest of us!” 

Germany’s brow furrowed further as he coughed into his elbow. The nerve of this man. “You speak like you’re blameless.” 

America’s glare loosened into one of question. 

“Don’t you dare speak down to me when your history is the bloodiest of us all. Have you really forgotten slavery?! The persecution of Native Americans?! How many lives were lost then?!” 

America’s expression darkened to cold fury. “Shut the hell up.” 

“You’re not innocent either!” Germany continued. 

America surged forward until the two were toe to toe, him looking up at Germany’s face in challenge. “You want to say that again? See what happens?” His voice was quiet. Nothing but a murmur. Like he was suppressing something he could barely control. 

Germany leaned down, reveling in the height difference between the two. The resentment that grew within him for the past three years was boiling toward the surface. The knowledge that he would die a painful death for all eternity. The fact that he so desperately loved someone who left his feelings unreturned. The fact that he was blamed for wars that he didn’t even start. The fact that so many lives fell at his hands. Knowing that America had so much war and pain in his history, and yet he was talking down to Germany like he was a saint. He let the words at the back of his mind roll off his tongue slowly, allowing the pause between them to pound at America’s conscience like a sledgehammer. “You. Are. A. Hypocrite.”

America immediately surged forward, seizing Germany by the collar of his shirt. 

Germany grabbed America’s hands and ripped them from his shirt, propping a leg behind America’s knees. He pushed America over, tripping him. 

America let out a sharp exhale as the back of his head hit the tile of the floor, but his glare never loosened as he tried to sit up. 

Germany surged forward, intent on pinning America down to the floor. Before he could, America planted a foot in his chest and kicked Germany away with a shout. 

Germany flew backward, his torso and head smacking against the drawers under the counter and landing on the floor. He hardly noticed, however, as his throat was blocked. The force of America’s kick disturbed the petals within Germany’s chest. Germany coughed desperately, bending forward to the ground and propping himself up with his arm. At last, a bundle of petals fell onto the floor. Germany sat up against the cupboards and drawers, trying to catch his breath. 

America sat on the floor several feet away, his glare completely gone. He panted, trying to catch his breath from the fight. “Grab a seat at the counter, Germany.” 

Germany stared at him, surprised as he stood with slight difficulty. He rounded the counter as America also got up. 

As Germany sat down, America crossed the room to the fridge. “Beer?” 

Germany paused. Well, that was unexpected. “Please.” 

America nodded, withdrawing two bottles. He crossed the kitchen to Germany, tossing the bottle in the air. It made a slow arc and landed in America’s hand, him immediately bringing the cap down against the edge of the counter. The cap popped off. America slid the bottle across the counter. 

Germany caught it, raising an eyebrow. 

“Party trick. You don't even want to know how many bottles I've broke.” America explained soberly, twisted the cap off his bottle of soda. “I can also tie a cherry stem with my tongue.” 

Germany nodded, taking a long drag out of the bottle. God, how he missed the taste of beer. It wasn’t as good as what he had at home, but he was still glad to have the familiar taste.

“Look, man, I’m sorry.” America said suddenly, sipping out of his bottle. “I just… I don’t know. I know it’s not your fault. I just want someone to blame, y’know?” 

Germany took another drink and nodded. 

“I know I’m not blameless. I’ve done a lot of shitty stuff too. But when your boss says you have to do it… you have to do it.” 

Germany nodded again. 

“You can try and fight it, if you want. But it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

Again, Germany nodded. 

“I don’t know how many years I’ve been fighting with my government to give Native Americans bigger reservations. We always act so appalled at what we did to them, but then we do nothing to fix it. It’s everything wrong with humanity.” 

“I apologize for what I said.” 

America shrugged, taking a swig from his bottle. “Nah, it’s all true. I’ll lay off, though. I don’t know if you noticed, but I can be a little bit childish sometimes.” 

Germany raised an eyebrow. 

“That’s a joke.” America added, smiling. 

Germany gave him a close-mouthed smile as well, taking a sip out of his bottle. 

The next couple months were much more amiable. They were never extremely buddy-buddy, but they got along well enough. It was a peaceful environment. Germany’s health slowly degraded, America handling it in an interesting fashion. America would occasionally ask if Germany was okay (much to Germany’s disdain), but more often than not he casually offered to grab Germany something whenever he happened to get up. Instead of taking charge of the situation, he asked Germany what he wanted to do. 

Germany coughed up his first flower while sitting on the couch after dinner. 

America looked up from his book, noticing the flower sitting in Germany’s lap. “Y’want me to grab you some tea of something?” He looked completely calm. Almost as if he were offering tea under normal circumstances.

Germany glanced over and noticed his mug was empty. “Actually, yes, please.” 

“Cool.” America stood. “I wanted to grab a snack anyway.” 

Germany handed America the mug, returning promptly to his book as he dropped the flower in a nearby garbage can. 

A couple months later when he could hardly get up from the couch, America came in while preparing breakfast. “Hey, do you want to head upstairs to bed, or would you rather stay on the couch, or what?” 

Germany frowned thoughtfully. “May just stay on the couch for now.” He coughed into his hand, wincing as it irritated his raw throat. 

“Coolio. Hey, you hungry? I’m making soup.” 

Germany had also noticed that America’s menu changed as time passed. The two mostly ate clear-brothed soups for lunch and dinner, oatmeal for breakfast. That was the one thing that America had changed without asking Germany. “No, but I’ll eat.” 

“Ey, channeling the American way! I’m rubbing off on you, Germany!” America called, returning to the kitchen. 

Germany smiled to himself slightly as he stared out the window. His smile fell. The curtains left only a crack of sunlight through into the room, the sunray landing on his right eye. He shifted, wishing more than anything that he could go outside. 

America returned with a bowl of soup. He paused, noticing Germany’s look of longing. Thinking for a moment, he quietly returned to the kitchen, setting the bowl of soup on the counter and running up the stairs. “Attic, attic, attic…” He mumbled to himself, opening the door. Boxes and boxes of things were stacked up on top of each other, a thin film of dust covering everything. His brow furrowed. God, he hated this room. And loved it. He shook his head quickly. He had a goal. He stepped among the boxes and various items, going to the back of the room where he knew sat… his face brightened into a grin. 

“Gotcha’!” he lurched forward and squeezed between two towers of boxes, pulling the wheelchair forward. It got jammed between the two stacks, America tugging it impatiently. With a final tug, both towers toppled over. America winced as something shattered within the boxes. “… that probably wasn’t important.” He hefted his prize. “God, you’re heavy.” It was awkward to carry down the stairs, but he prevailed. He slammed it onto the ground with a clatter. “Hey, Germany!” 

Germany sat up on the couch, peering over. “A wheelchair?” 

“Yup!” He rolled it toward the couch. “We’re going to eat outside today.” 

Germany raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that against the rules?” 

“I’ve always been a rebel.” He stopped the wheelchair, looking at Germany expectantly. “Get it? Like the revolution?” 

Germany blinked. 

“Whatever. In the chair you go.” 

Germany eyed the chair distastefully, but he hefted himself forward. It was awkward getting in the chair, but he eventually did it. 

“You want me to push you, or you cool to do it yourself?” 

“I can do it.” Germany decided after experimentally rolling himself forward and backward a few inches. He noted that it was far more difficult to do this than it would have been before he got the cursed disease. A slight grimace marred his face.

“Okay, I’ll grab your soup and we can head out.” 

The two headed down the hallway, America balancing a bowl of soup on each hand. Germany got the door and the two sat on the back patio. Spring was just beginning, the trees in America’s backyard blooming with flowers. The breeze played through Germany’s un-slicked hair. The sun shone on his pitifully pale skin. He coughed a flower out as he surveyed the scene around him, allowing it to blow away in the wind. Among the other flowers and petals dancing in the wind, the red-tinged lily almost fit in. Somehow, this was the best he felt since coming down with hanahaki. 

America sat in a chair that he dragged from the kitchen, enjoying the scene before him with uncharacteristic silence. 

“This is nice.” Germany said. 

America nodded. There was another period of silence before he turned to Germany. “Hey, I never apologized for how I treated you after the war.” 

Germany looked over at him. “Wasn’t that also included in the apology a couple months ago?” 

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I just thought I should apologize. I was just being a real asshole.” 

Germany stared ahead. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” 

America also looked ahead. “You and your friends… you guys forgive real easily.” 

Germany glanced over. 

“Japan forgave me almost immediately for the bombing… I mean, I hoped he would, of course. I just didn’t expect it. My boss made me.” 

“I figured.” 

“But Japan forgave me. Just like that.”

Germany grunted, looking ahead. “Life is too long to hold onto grudges.” 

“Hmm.” America hummed. “You’re probably right.” 

The two looked ahead, relishing the rest of the day. 

Germany finally died on the fifth month. Not even halfway through the year. It was a blow to him. It made him wonder how little time he would eventually have between deaths. If it would get to the point where he would go a week or even a day until he would die. He wondered how much more painful it could be. He wondered how much more he could think of Italy. The man had been plaguing his thoughts nonstop. Even the things that once annoyed Germany seemed endearing to him in Italy’s absence. It tore into him in a way that he didn’t think was possible. 

He hated it. 

He loved it. 

He wanted it to stop, yet begged for it to continue. Dreaded every thought, yet welcomed it with open arms. In his prison, his memories were one of his few freedoms. But, like a meal given in a prison, it was a bitter version of what it should be. But, like a meal, it kept him alive. Kept him going day, to day, to day, to day. From death to death, from year to year. Miserably, he would die. Stubbornly, he would come back. The sun rose. The grass grew. Many people also died, but none of them came back to life. 

Life went on without Germany. And that too killed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make Aph America Great Again 2k19 (God, please don't kill me, it was a joke XD). 
> 
> But seriously, I have so much love for America's potential as a character. God bless.


	5. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a decade away from his home, his dogs, and his brother, Germany finds himself going home at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fluff break between all this angst. Sorry, y'all. You already read through the hardest part! XD
> 
> Also, since this is a shorter chapter, I'll be posting two today.

The rest of the decade passed by painfully slowly. He cycled between the three houses, his relationship with the three nations growing into what could only be described as a friendship. He came to appreciate the different characteristics of each nation, the different quirks. France had to sleep with the window open… and in the nude. England tossed salt over his shoulder if he spilled it. America never closed his doors all the way. Learning these intimate little details about each nation brought them closer than he would have ever thought possible. Even America treated him as a friend. Though he enjoyed their company, he was delighted when a car of Germany representatives whisked him away from France’s house to return home. 

France turned his head as he heard the car come down the driveway. 

Germany coughed up a lily petal, but that did nothing to dampen his spirits as he perked up. 

France looked at Germany, a delighted smile on his face. “It’s time for you to go home.” 

“Thank you for everything.” Germany said, reaching forward. 

France shook his hand. “Thank you for keeping me company. I’ll be over there to annoy you soon enough, I imagine Prussia will be having me over again soon.” 

“Shocking as it sounds, I actually look forward to it.” Germany gave him a close-mouthed smile. 

France smiled back. “Get out of here.” 

Germany turned around and opened the door, descending the steps. 

He finally arrived home, his excitement mounting as he opened the car door and walked down the sidewalk to his door. His walk sped into a fastwalk, which mounted into a jog. This turned into a full-out run as he found himself incapable of slowing down. He jerked open the door, dropping his bag on the floor. _“Gilbert!” _

There was a long period of silence. 

_“West?!”_ The distant slapping of feet on hard wood echoed through the house, along with the scratching of dogs’ nails against the floor. His dogs were the first to arrive.

Germany kneeled to the floor, a smile growing on his face as he pet all his dogs as fast as his hands would allow._ “How were you guys without me, huh? Are you glad I’m home?”_

Blackie rolled onto his back in invitation.

Germany reached down obligingly and rubbed Blackie’s stomach. Hearing footsteps, he glanced up.

Prussia stood at the end of the hallway, his eyes wide and his face blank, mouth open. His face split into a wide smile. He barreled forward as Germany stood, capturing his little brother in a hug.

Germany wrapped his arms around his brother, grasping the back of Prussia’s uniform in his clenched fists.

The two stood there for a little bit longer before Prussia released Germany. He still maintained his wide open grin as he rested a hand on his shoulder. _“You look like you could use a beer.”_

Germany coughed into his hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to be sorrowful as he smiled back at his brother. _“I think I could.”_

_"Come on."_ Prussia looped his arm around his brother's shoulder. _"We have a lot to catch up on."_

Two months later, Germany was hunched over outdoors, his shovel lying forgotten on the dirt as he steadied himself against a tree. He coughed up several flower petals before his throat was completely blocked.

_“West!”_

Germany cringed inwardly as he heard Prussia run toward him. He should have prepared himself for Prussia’s reaction to him choking on flowers after he came home. But since he got home, he was so busy spending time with his dogs and brother that it slipped his mind. Before Prussia could intervene, he began on the self-heimlich.

_“Ludwig, wh- what should I do?”_ Prussia stuttered, apparently at a loss for words.

Ludwig continued to pull his fist into his chest, sucking in a breath when the flower was finally coughed out. He continued to lean against the tree, chest heaving._ “Nothing.” _ Germany huffed. _“Nothing you can do.” _ There were several moments of silence. Germany caught his breath, peering up at his brother.

Prussia gaped at him with a usually smirking mouth. His eyebrows, usually arched high with mirth, were furrowed over his violet eyes with worry. _“Ludwig…” _ His voice was softer than usual. Heavy with sorrow and confusion. _“Is this what you’ve been going through the past decade?”_

_“Not necessarily. Usually it’s just petals.”_ He let his weight drop onto the grass, leaning his back against the trunk of the tree as he continued to catch his breath.

Aster gingerly paced forward, gently nudging Germany’s face with his nose.

Germany lightly pushed away Aster’s snout, watching Prussia as he blankly processed what Germany was saying.

_“Okay.” Prussia said, nodding. “So we just… wait?”_

Germany also nodded, despising every moment of this conversation.

Prussia huffed, clumsily dropping onto the ground next to him. He pulled Aster to him, scratching behind both his ears. He scrunched Aster’s face forward. While he usually would have laughed at all the wrinkles on the dog’s face, it appeared that he was unable to find humor in it._ “I’m having Francis and Spain over this weekend. You could invite people over too, you know.”_

_“No.”_

“No?” Prussia asked, releasing Aster’s face as he turned to his brother.

Aster sneezed, then lumbered away to annoy Blackie.

_“Don’t want to.”_

_“Lud, you have to have them over at some point. You’ve turned down invitations from Italy and Japan so many times… They’re wondering what’s going on.”_

Germany furrowed his brow, staring ahead. He watched the season’s first spring bees buzz lazily from flower to flower and idly thought that he needed to mow. It was strange how such mundane thoughts could break their way into a conversation about tragedy. About ignored friendships. Indeed, Germany had received countless phone calls from both his friends. Letters. Invitations. Questions on how he was doing. He responded to letters curtly and with minimal words. The phone remained unanswered with the excuse that he was busy taking care of Prussia or doing yardwork. Excuses that were not entirely untrue, but certainly exaggerated. _“Can I wait until the hanahaki passes at least? I’m scarcely able to hold a conversation.”_

Prussia shook his head. _“No, Lud-"_

_“Gilbert,” _ Germany protested, facing him.

_“Blame it on allergies. Cold. Hay fever. Whatever you have to say. The farther you put this off, the harder it will be for you to do it. Trust me, West.”_ His tone was sober.

_“I…” _ Germany huffed, the sigh irritating his throat. He coughed into his elbow dryly, wincing as it stung his throat. _“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. Perhaps that’s typical of me.”_

Prussia looked ahead, smiling to himself. _“I’d say that’s typical of anyone who goes a decade without seeing his friends. Cut yourself a break.”_

Germany glanced over to his brother, the corners of his mouth lifting. _“You first.”_

Prussia looked back over, the familiar smirk back on his face. _“You’re a real brat, you know that? Here I am, being an awesome older brother, and you’re sassing me.”_

Germany didn’t realize how much he missed that impish grin. _“Quit stalling. Those flowerbeds won’t weed themselves.”_

Prussia huffed, pushing himself off the ground._ “Yeah, yeah.”_ He turned, pushing his fine, white hair away from his forehead. _“You’ll figure out what to say, West. It’s what you do. You are my brother, after all. Must be my awesome genetics at work.”_

Germany looked up at Prussia. His older brother. Germany knew that from the outside, it looked like the roles were reversed between the two. Like Germany acted like the older brother, his stern voice seeming to overpower Prussia’s scratchy, boisterous rasp. But Germany knew that Prussia was still the older brother. Though he would loathe to admit it aloud, he truly looked up to Prussia. _“If saying that makes you feel better.”_

_“Now get off your ass and help me out. I bet I have something tucked away in the cupboards for us to eat until we can go grab more food later.”_

Germany stood, straightening his shoulders and standing at his full height._ “Let’s go.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so hear me out. I'm working on two fics right now: 
> 
> The first is an Ameripan fic where Kiku, on an exchange program, moves to America to join the NYPD with a mystery roommate. Like a crazy coincidence in a Hallmark movie, the two are not only roommates, but end up being partners in the force! When strange cases begin popping up in New York, the two roommates learn things about each other that they never expected. This will be my most ambitious fic yet, and frankly it's going to take a while. Like, a while while. 
> 
> The second is, plain and simple, a Hadestown au fic. If you haven't heard/seen Hadestown, it could still be read alone, but it's going to a be a shorter fic. It's gonna' be more of a fun project rather than one I take seriously, but I was inspired by the music. 
> 
> I'll post both of them, but which would you rather see first?


	6. Expectation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After over a decade of separation, the former axis powers finally gets together. Of course, Germany worries how his hanahaki may affect their meeting... perhaps he should be worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps I should have mentioned this last chapter, but all the text in italics is spoken in the nation's first language.

Germany turned in the mirror. He raised an eyebrow. He nervously ran his hand over his freshly slicked back hair. Did he look too stiff? Was it obvious that he was trying to dress like nothing was wrong? Like he was hiding his fatal illness behind a button-up shirt and a tie? He grunted. He needed to lose the tie. He pulled off the tie, tossing it onto the top of his dresser. He turned in the mirror. Navy blue slacks and a sky blue button-up. He knew that he usually had it buttoned up to his throat, but he wasn’t willing to put any more pressure on his throat than what was necessary. Was he being ridiculous? Probably. But whatever small comfort he could get for himself, he was more than willing to take. He unbuttoned the first button to his shirt, glancing up as Berlitz pushed through his bedroom door and into the room. 

Berlitz lumbered over to his bed and jumped onto Germany’s bed, circling before laying down. 

_“What do you think, Berlitz?”_ Germany asked, still facing the mirror. _“Not too suspicious?"_

Berlitz turned his big, doe brown eyes onto the back of his master, almost as if wondering what he was thinking. 

Germany turned slightly, looking himself up and down. _“It looks like this is as good as it’s going to get."_

Berlitz huffed from the bed. 

Germany furrowed his brow. _“Well, if you’re not going to be supportive-”_ He stopped as he caught sight of his brother in the mirror. Prussia was standing in the doorway, eating ice cream straight out of the carton. It seemed that ever since the war ended and the economy grew more stable, Prussia was treating himself to the finer things more often. He had never quite divulged what it had been like at Russia’s house. Frankly, Germany was fine with his willful ignorance.

_“Berlitz doesn’t approve of your look?”_ He snickered around his spoon. 

_“Hmm.”_ Germany strode over to his bed, kneeling down to give Berlitz some pets. _“He certainly doesn’t seem enthusiastic about it.” _

_“Don’t worry about it, West. You inherited my good looks.” _

Germany hummed again, not looking up at him.

_“You ready?” Prussia asked, scooping another hearty spoonful of chocolate ice cream. _

Germany coughed into his elbow, hacking until he coughed up a flower petal. He held it delicately in his fingers, observing it idly. _“No.” _

Prussia shrugged slightly, struggling to fit all the ice cream in his mouth. _“Me neither.” _

_“What do you have to be nervous about?”_

_“I ‘unno.” _Prussia mumbled around the ice cream. He swallowed his mouthful. _“Doesn’t really matter, does it? Point is, they’ll be here any minute now.”_

Both froze as the doorbell rang. As the dogs barked and Berlitz dropped off the bed, Germany felt his breath hitch. 

Prussia turned to him. _“Ten years.”_

Germany nodded stiffly. _“Ten years.” _

_“Watch your hand, West.” _

Germany looked down, noticing that his fist was clenched so hard that his fingers were a pallid white. He belatedly felt his fingernails bite into his skin. He unfurled his fist, seeing that the lily petal was crumpled and wrinkled in his palm. He looked up at Prussia, noticing the last second of pity before he looked up and masked it again.

_“I’ll go answer the door. Coming?” _

Germany nodded once again, following his brother down the stairs. 

Prussia opened the door, Germany seeing that it was just France. 

“Prussia!” France greeted, his voice alight with joy. He entered the house, wrapping his arms around Prussia. 

“Hello, France.” Prussia said back, accepting the hug without complaint. 

France leaned back, kissing Prussia on one cheek, moving to the other, and back again. “Oh, look at you, Prussia. You missed me so much that you’re not even complaining about my greetings!” 

“Don’t get used to it.” Prussia responded with his usual smirk. 

France beamed his 1,000- watt smile, shaking his head. “Oh, how I have missed you, _mon ami_.”

“Did you get into too much trouble while I was gone?” 

“Eh, no more than usual.” France turned to Germany. “And Germany!” He stuck out his hand. 

Germany, grateful for a more reserved greeting, returned the handshake. “Hello, France.” 

“You’re looking very good. Better than I’ve seen you in a long time. Home’s good for you, I think. Handsome as ever.” 

“Thank you.” Germany responded. 

“Hey!” Prussia broke in. “Why didn’t you say anything about how handsome I am?” 

France smiled at him, his blue eyes alight with mirth. “Where I'm from, it's considered bad form to lie to your friends.. Besides, your little brother is so much more charming.” 

“Geez, West, there you go stealing my friends away from me.” Prussia laughed. 

“You don’t make it difficult.” Germany responded with a close-mouthed smile. 

“I can’t tell whether to be happy that you’re actually making wise-cracks, or mad that you’re shooting ‘em at your awesome older brother.” Prussia said. “Eh, whatever. Come on, France, take off your coat! Stay a while!”

“Don’t mind if I do.” France shrugged off his coat, hanging it on a coat peg and following Prussia into the kitchen.

Germany was just turning to follow them when the doorbell rang. He turned and opened the door, his eyes meeting a blank, brown stare. “Japan.” 

Japan looked up at him, his mouth turning up into a very rare grin. “Hello, Germany.” 

“Please, come in.” 

Japan stepped forward, careful to take off his sandals after he stepped onto the welcome mat. He stuck his hand forward. “I hope you have been well.” 

Germany accepted the hand, shaking it. “I have been. It’s wonderful to be home. I’m sure you understand.” 

“Indeed. Our hosts were very generous, but it always feels good to return home after a long time away."

Two an outsider's eye, they have talked as if they were business associates greeting each other before a meeting, making meaningless small talk. But the two had an understanding. It was the same understanding they have had for decades. No matter whatever had passed, no matter what they were in the middle of, the two understood each other. They were introverts. Geniuses. Men of planning and care. And yet they were two entirely different people of different ambitions. They were aware that these were greetings often used meaninglessly in business and unexpected run-ins between acquaintances at grocery stores. But it was the fact that the two genuinely meant what they were saying that gave it the meaning the two craved from each other. 

“Can I get you anything to drink?” 

“Some tea would be lovely, thank you.” They walked quietly through the house, passing the living room. Prussia and France were chatting loudly, laughing constantly. 

Germany smiled to himself. It was good to see Prussia so happy. “How was your experience these past years?” He asked after they got to the kitchen. 

“It was… interesting. I learned much about my hosts.” 

Germany nodded, boiling the kettle of water on the stove. “So have I. France seems almost… paternal.” 

“I noticed that as well. He tried to connect with me. I really appreciated his efforts. Perhaps the two of us were just a little too different.” 

“That’s what I thought would happen to. But, strange as it sounds, the two of us actually get long pretty well.” 

Japan raised a single eyebrow. “Really?” 

“Unexpectedly so. I enjoyed my time at France’s probably the most. Where did you spend your first year?” 

“England’s.” 

“How did that go?” 

“We have always been… close, I suppose. Or at least closer than I am with many other nations. Excluding you and Italy, of course. It was very peaceful. America was next.” 

Germany raised an eyebrow and coughed into his elbow. “And?” 

“It went better than I expected, actually.” 

“I was wondering.” 

“I know he didn’t want to do it.” Japan explained. “I forgave him shortly after it happened when I had time to think about it.” 

Germany leaned forward on the counter. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” 

A doorbell sounded through the house, freezing the conversation between the two. 

Japan turned to the door, smiling to himself slightly. “That must be Italy and Spain.” 

Germany stared ahead at the hallway leading to the door. There was nothing but a door separating the man he- the man who caused all this. The one that couldn’t fix it. How was he supposed to act? What was keeping the other from learning about everything other than the thin ruse of allergies? 

“Germany? Are you feeling alright?” 

Germany looked down at Japan. “Hmm? Of course.” 

Japan furrowed his brow, his eyes flickering between both of Germany’s. 

Germany pushed away from the counter. From that analyzing gaze. Despite his suppressed panic as he walked to the door, he recognized the silent question behind Japan’s eyes. The realization that he was hiding something from him. Was his lie really that bad? Was he truly that easy to read? He stopped at the door. The doorbell rang again. He took a deep breath before pulling open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have no idea how important it is to me that nations that speak the language speak their native tongue in private. I don't know why, it's just a very important detail for me.


	7. Deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany is finally reunited with Italy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, folks, I'm being HAMMERED with a wicked cold right now. That added with the fact that it's finals week... hhh. It's fine. XD

Germany opened the door. No matter how much he expected what he saw, that didn’t keep him from being taken aback with the sight that confronted him.

Spain stood behind the two others standing at the doorframe, beaming at Germany. He was dressed in a red button-up over a white shirt and a pair of jeans, looking surprisingly out of place out of his military uniform. The last time Germany had seen him, his smile was strained. It was awkward and fake. Now, his dimpled smile was genuine and white as ever. Unexpectedly, it was a pleasure to see.

In front of him, standing the shortest, was Romano with his arms crossed. He looked at Germany almost expressionlessly, but for a slightly furrowed brow. Almost as if he were withholding judgement for him until Germany proved something to him. It was an expression Germany found odd, as usually Romano just sent him a harrowing glare and moved on. He was also in casual clothes, though Romano’s “casual", as usual, outdressed everyone else. He dressed in a black buton-up, a grey jacket, a pair of jeans, and a pair of black leather shoes that had to have cost a fortune.

Finally, at the very front, stood Italy. His hair shone in the sunlight like copper. His skin was a tan that Germany associated with long days at the beach and naps in the afternoon daylight. Clad in a simple white t-shirt, skinny jeans and sneakers, even in casual clothing he seemed to draw attention from those surrounding him like a magnet. His pink lips were upturned in a huge grin that reached his brown eyes. Those brown eyes. They searched Germany and punctured a hole somewhere deep within him. He felt his breath hitch. 

Germany felt his lips part, but he had no idea what to say. 

Italy’s smile dropped upon seeing him. After a moment, he recovered and leapt forward. “Germany!” He wrapped his arms around Germany and grabbed the back of his shirt in his fists.   
Without hesitation, Germany encircled his arms around the smaller nation. He shocked himself with how quickly he returned the hug. It almost felt like a reflex, his skin yearning for a touch he hadn't felt in decades. The last time they had hugged like this, it was a hug goodbye. His brow furrowed. God, how he missed this man. 

“Germany, you’re here! I missed you so much!” Italy’s voice was muffled in his chest. 

In a strange moment of hyper-awareness, Germany realized that Italy’s lips rested right over where his heart was. He desperately hoped Italy couldn’t feel how swiftly his heart was beating. “I know. It’s good to see you.” Belatedly, he noticed Romano's gaze upon them.

Romano’s usually surly expression was one of fondness. A small, unguarded smile was on his face as he observed the scene before him. His hazel eyes flickered up to Germany and it immediately fell to a scowl. “Okay, Kraut quit feeling up my brother.” 

Italy pulled away. Already, Germany felt so cold. “Oh stop it, Romano, it’s been a decade!” 

“You got any food here, or what?” Romano asked. 

Spain clicked his tongue. “Come on, ‘Mano, don’t be like that! It’s a reunion!” He reached forward and took Germany’s hand between both his own. He shook it vigorously. “It’s good to see you, Germany. How you doing?” 

“I’m doing well. It’s good to be home.” 

“I imagine so, Germany!” Italy piped from beside him. “You’ve always been more of a homebody.” 

Germany looked over to him, a small smile on his face. His voice was like music to his ears. Crazy how Italy could drive him crazy just by speaking. “Come on. Japan’s waiting in the kitchen. Prussia and France are in our living room.” 

“Sounds, good, Germany! Welcome home.” Spain said, pushing past him to get to the living room, Romano tailing reluctantly behind. 

“Thank you.” 

Italy surged forward, taking Germany’s hand. “Come on, Germany! I want all of us to be together like old times!” 

Germany’s heart sprang to his throat. He felt something flare within him. Something that made its unwelcome presence remembered to him again. He coughed into his elbow as Italy pulled him through the house, into the kitchen. 

“Japan!” Italy cheered, releasing Germany’s hand to wave to his friend. 

Japan turned in his seat. “Hello, Italy.” 

Italy rushed forward and took the other stool, leaning forward on the counter. “Look at us! All together again, just like old times!” He turned around in his seat again. “Oh, wait! You sit down, Germany, I’ll make us something to eat!” 

Germany raised an eyebrow. “You realize that I’m the one hosting, right?” 

“I know your kitchen almost as well as my own! I haven’t made something for us in so long! I insist!” 

Germany smiled to himself, brushing past Italy to sit down on the stool. “If you insist.” 

Italy rounded the counter and cracked his knuckles, pulling Germany’s favorite apron off a magnetic peg on the fridge. “Right!” He rummaged around the cabinets, his bright grin slowly falling to a disappointed frown. “There’s-” 

“No pasta.” Germany coughed into his elbow, clearing his throat. “Sorry.” 

Italy smiled back at him. “It’s okay. Your tastes are far too German.” 

Germany shook his head with mirth, not responding. 

“If you do not mind my asking, how did it go between you and America when you stayed with him?” Japan inquired. 

Italy paused his perusal of the kitchen, shutting the nearest cabinet. “You’re talking about your… visits?” 

“We began the conversation before you arrived. I was curious as to how it went with Germany.” 

“I hope it wasn’t too hard on you, Germany. Japan made it sound fine, maybe even pleasant! After all, France, England and America are very nice!”

Germany raised an eyebrow, ignoring the pang in his chest as he realized he couldn’t tell his friends about a whole half of his time at the other’s houses. The time lying uselessly in bed, coughing up lilies. He cleared his throat again, pushing the intrusive thought away. “You would think so. England and France were fine. Strange as it may seem, I actually enjoyed my time at their houses. But my time with America started out a little tense the first year. He followed me around everywhere out of fear that I would try to escape and… start another war, I suppose. Can’t say I blame him.” 

Japan blinked, looking taken aback. “Is that so?” 

“He didn’t do the same with you?” 

“Not at all. It was… well I don’t want to say ‘friendly’, but it went about as well as I could hope for. A little tense, but otherwise fine.” 

“We got into a fight.” 

Japan frowned. “As in a shouting match?” 

“And a uh… physical fight.” 

Again, Japan blinked. “Hmm.” 

“A what? A fight? Did you get hurt?” Italy asked worriedly, looking up from his work.

“It was very short before I- before we talked it out.” Germany explained. That wasn’t lying, was it? “I wasn’t-” He was very much in pain. “Injured.” 

Japan nodded thoughtfully, but he withheld his thoughts to himself. 

Italy wasn’t quite so tactful. “What did you fight over?” 

“I’ll give you three guesses.” 

Italy’s eyes widened. “He didn’t attack you over the wars, did he? Everyone knows that wasn’t your fault.” 

Germany shrugged slightly, trying to ignore how Italy’s concern started his heart all over again. “He said later that he was just looking for someone to blame, but yes.” 

“It’s unlike you to not try to talk your way out of the situation.” Japan observed. 

He was hit with a wave of shame. “I… talked.” 

“About?” 

“His history.” 

Italy gaped. “Oh, Germany… you didn’t talk about slavery or anything, did you?” 

“I- yes. And the native Americans as well.” 

Japan frowned. “Germany, you know as well as I that’s a low blow. America is doing everything he can to rectify his past mistakes.” 

“Yes, yes, I know! I was out of line.” Germany lamented, looking down at the table. “But I was very angry. I wasn’t allowed to leave the houses, I was-” He almost let it slip. “I missed my brother… On top of it, being falsely blamed for something I loathed doing in the first place made me lose control.” 

“It’s okay, Germany.” Italy reassured, approaching the counter. He leaned forward and rested a hand on Germany’s arm. 

Germany’s heart jumped again. 

Italy smiled. “We were all angry. We all said and did things we regret.” He straightened. “But the point is, that’s in the past! We’re in the present, now, so we can enjoy it!” 

Japan nodded. “Italy is right. We all make mistakes, Germany.” 

Germany just nodded, eager to change the subject. “How were you this past decade, Italy?” 

“Well I hate to talk about my pleasant experience after what I just heard…” Italy trailed off with a sheepish smile. 

“You said yourself that is in the past. I’m genuinely curious how you were at Spain’s.” Germany explained. 

Italy pulled the jar of flour out of the cabinet, humming. 

Germany tried to keep from cringing at the sight. Oh, how he hoped he wouldn’t have to clean up after Italy. 

Italy turned back to the cabinet. “It was amazing! It was like being on a vacation, Germany! The sun was always shining, Spain’s garden is so lovely! I would pick tomatoes with Romano, and I made dinner everyday… and breakfast… and lunch. Seborga came and visited us a few times, too! It was lovely! Have you guys ever seen the stars in Spain? It’s beautiful! I mean, not as beautiful as the stars at my house, but you know that’s an unfair comparison.” 

Germany rested his chin in his palm as he listened to Italy chatter. Japan would hum thoughtfully every now and again to respond to one of Italy’s sentiments, eventually nursing a cup of tea. It almost felt normal again. At least until Germany would cough. A painful reminder that nothing would ever be the same again. 

The guests stayed over at Germany’s house until well into the night. They left at midnight, wine and pasta in everyone’s stomachs, happiness in their hearts. Germany closed the door to the house and turned with a sigh. Prussia was loafing on the couch, tipsy with beer. 

_“I hope the others have a designated driver.” _

Prussia lifted his heavy head to look at his brother, dropping it back on the couch pillow with a grin. _“Yup. Spain’s driving.” _

_“I’m not sure that’s responsible, but at least they’re safe.” _He took a seat in his armchair, sighing slightly as he contemplated his day. It was wonderful to see Italy on one hand… but on the other, it was painful. Seeing Japan was pleasant, of course. A relief, in fact. The two have always gotten along wonderfully. It was fantastic to see his friend again… so Germany felt guilty as only one of his friends was on his mind. 

_“Thinking about Italy?”_ Prussia inquired, not looking away from the ceiling. 

Germany just grunted. 

_“You’ll be okay, West. It hurts now, but heartbreak is easier to get used to than you would think.” _

Germany glanced over at his brother. What he said was delivered so casually, but there was an unspoken weight to what he said. He wondered exactly what had taken place in the time they spent apart. He wondered if his brother was just speaking from his country being dissolved, or from something entirely different. Something from before Germany existed, during, or even right now. Though the two brothers were close, Germany knew most about Prussia's history through books. His older brother preferred to keep his past in the past, turning to his journals to divulge whatever he was feeling. Whatever was worrying him. When the two talked, Prussia usually spoke of positive things or bragging about something that he had done. Germany knew it was a façade of sorts. One that he didn't dare break. He was afraid to ask what prompted Prussia's sentiment. So, swallowing his questions, he looked away and didn’t question it.

The two brothers sat together, stewing in their separate thoughts. 

Germany leaned over the side of his bed a month later, coughing out a full flower. He gulped in frantic breaths, at least as well as he could with the limited movements he could make. He looked down at the flower on the floor. The border of the petals were a deep maroon. He would be dead within hours. He collapsed against his pillows, turning away from his brother.  
Prussia shifted in his armchair next to the bed, laden with the kind of silence that came with not knowing what to say. _“… Ludwig.” _

Germany concentrated on breathing. Perhaps if he pretended to sleep he wouldn’t have to talk.

_“Ludwig. I know you’re awake.” _

Germany turned his head over to Prussia. He knew what he looked like now. He looked siphoned. Like the life was draining out of him. He could feel the stems scraping and scratching at his insides. He knew that his very life blood was being robbed of him as they spoke. He would be dead soon, pale and sallow. _“You used,” _he took a shallow breath. _“To call me West.”_

Something flashed within Prussia’s eyes. A grim realization. _“You’re going to die, soon, aren’t you?” _

Germany simply blinked and summoned the last of his strength to open his mouth. _“Yes.”_ His voice was barely a whisper. A bodiless murmur, sounding like his timbre was scrubbed away with sandpaper. 

Prussia nodded, though Germany could see his composure breaking off piece by piece. _“I see.”_

_“You don’t-” _Germany coughed. God, it even hurt to talk. _“Need to worry. I've done it before.” _

_“You shouldn’t have to.” _Prussia’s voice was laden with second-hand misery. Heavy and so less vibrant than usual. _“No one should.” _

_“Stop it.” _

Prussia looked taken aback, but he nodded. 

Germany felt dread settle into his stomach as he felt the stems rise. God, not now. No. Please. Not while Prussia could see. He only had a little time. 

_“You want tea?”_ Prussia asked. 

Germany nodded, unable to find it within himself to say anything more. 

_“Okay. Coming right up! No one can make tea as awesomely as I can!”_ The cheer was false. Nearly as fake as Germany’s calm. 

Germany watched his brother leave, finally giving in to the pain as the flowers pushed into his throat and out of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I may have partially stolen a line from 'The Fault in Our Stars'. Sue me. XD


	8. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angsty confrontation between my OTP? In my fic? It's more likely than you think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh damn, here we go.

Germany opened his eyes, once again relishing the feeling of being able to take full breaths. Relishing the luxury of unimpeded oxygen. He turned his head, grunting as the cricks in his neck gave way. He froze as he spotted Prussia sitting in an armchair, his arms crossed and his brows furrowed. 

_“You sent me away.”_ There was no other way to describe Prussia’s tone and body language other than ‘royally pissed off’. 

Germany sighed. _“Is it too late to pretend I’m still dead?” _Ah, his voice. Gruff and yet so much smoother than it’s been in months. 

_“Ha ha.” _Prussia deadpanned. _“Why didn’t you let me stay with you when you died?” _

_“Is it shocking that I didn’t want my brother to see that?” _

Prussia rolled his eyes. _“Don’t be a hero, West.” _  
_“I’m not-.” _

_“Stop.”_ Prussia snapped. _“Listen, I get it. It’s hard to do this. You don’t like to be taken care of.” _

_“It’s not other peoples’ fault that I have a disease. I should deal with it by myself. I got it myself.”_

Prussia stood. _“There you go again! God, I never thought I’d have to actually be your big brother again. Is this how you’re going to be when you face conflict? Are you going to push away people who care about you, people who love you, just because you’re the always-suffering Ludwig? The fallen hero who is doomed to be alone? Is that who you’re going to be?” _

_“I’m not a fallen hero.” _

_“Then stop acting like it, for the love of God.”_ Prussia snapped. _“I can’t believe you’re steeping this far in self-pity when the people who love you have to watch this happen to you. Sit up.” _

Germany pierced Prussia with his gaze, but he sat up. 

_“Back straight up.” _

Germany straightened. 

_“There’s my brother. Who are you, anyway? You’re no fallen hero, who are you?” _

_“Ludwig Beilshmidt. Personification of Germany.” _

Prussia nodded._ “Then you better damn well act like it.” _

Germany studied the man in front of him._ “All this because I sent you away?” _

_“You’re missing the point.” _Prussia shook his head. _“Because I watched you turn into someone else. Ludwig from a decade ago would never lose himself to self-pity. I don’t want you to forget that.” _

Germany stood._ “… thank you.” _

Prussia gave a single, proud nod._ “You’re welcome. Now make me pancakes. I can’t cook for shit and I've lived off canned soup for the past twenty-four hours.” _

This continued for a long time. A very long time. Forty-five long, difficult years. The length between each bout of hanahaki shrank until he was dying once every other week. He ignored invitations from his friends with excuses of being busy, only agreeing to lunches and events that took place right after he woke up from his last death. He spent the majority of his time in his house, staring out the window longingly. Thinking of the people he missed the most. He pondered on how Japan spent all those years so long ago in complete solitude. Germany would call himself an introvert, but this was pure torture. He missed out on the past three annual world meetings due to unfortunate scheduling. The fact of the matter was, he could only hide so many coughing fits from his peers before they realized what was wrong. Before the people outside the former axis and allies realized that there was something terribly wrong with Germany. 

He spent his days trying to forget Italy. To not think about his smile, or his laugh… about his desire to try new things and dress however he felt like. Trying not to think of his unrestrained joy and his frank ignorance of social norms in the pursuit of happiness. To forget how his hair in the sunlight looked almost red. Trying not to think about his eyes… God, his eyes. How he grew to miss those eyes. It’s been almost three months since he had seen him. Germany and his friends scarcely went a month without seeing each other. He was running out of excuses. 

Until the year 2000, the start of a new century. Germany and his brother had been invited to a New Year's party America was hosting. Germany opened the texted invite with a resigned reluctance, already knowing that he would be unable to make it. That night, he made the excuse of having a bout of hay fever. Did people still get hay fever? He barely had time to think about it before he choked out the excuse over the phone to Japan. He sent Prussia to go have fun with his friends. Prussia left with much reluctance, but nonetheless agreed after Germany promised he could take care of himself. He lay in his bed, reading a book. He was certain that today he would die. How fitting that he would die on New Year’s Eve and wake anew on the first day of the new century. 

He reached over with a shaky hand and grabbed the handle of his mug. Lifting it, he realized it was empty. If he had been willing to spare the breath, he would have sighed. He debated internally, deciding whether it was worth the effort to get up and grab some more tea. Heaven knew it could take twenty minutes just to walk there, make the tea, and stumble his way back up the stairs. Curse those stairs. Twenty minutes to accomplish a five minute task. It was only Germany's pride that kept him from taking Prussia's offer for him to sleep on the couch, several yards from the kitchen. The rawness of his throat screamed at him to just throw off the bed covers and get to it already. 

So he summoned his strength and he did. He threw off the covers, lying for a couple seconds to regain his breath. He sat up. Another ten seconds of staying still to catch his breath. He grabbed his mug, noticing that it was about twenty minutes past midnight. His brother would be home from the bar any minute now. Here to take care of him. Perhaps he could go without tea…? 

No. No, definitely not. Germany was far too tired of being unable to do anything. He was tired of reading and re-reading the same books, remembering days that passed and memories that were dangling forever out of reach, never to be replicated from lack of energy. He took a deep breath and stood. Vertigo. The room spun in front of him, him stumbling over and clutching the edge of his bedside table until his vision stilled. He dimly registered the sound of a doorbell as he released the bedside table. Germany heard the dogs’ barking. Registered the scratching of their claws against the wood of the downstairs floor. Wasn’t it odd for Prussia to be ringing the doorbell to his own house? 

His head spun as he took the first few steps. He tried to stumble toward the door out of his bedroom. He missed the frame, falling through the open door. He fell on the ground, the floor seeming to cut into his back. The coffee mug shattered against the wooden floor, but this didn’t register as another coughing fit began. He heard the door open and the dogs settle. He heard footsteps come up the stairs._ “Gilbert.” _He croaked. His voice was barely audible, even to him. He gave up his pride. He just needed to be hoisted back to his bed. He was going to die any minute now. God, why didn’t he just keep Prussia here? 

“Germany?” 

Germany’s heart stilled. No. No, no, no, no. This wasn’t happening. He summoned his strength and turned his head. 

Italy was stood there, his brown eyes wide with fear. Both hands were held up to his mouth. 

“Italy.” What was he supposed to say? Surely this was a bad dream. Surely he would wake up any minute now. Perhaps it was an illusion from a lack of oxygen. Surely that was it. “You need to leave.” 

“Germany!” Italy kneeled next to him. 

Germany winced away from Italy’s close proximity like it burned him. “Get out of here.” He didn’t want Italy to see him. Not like this. Not when his skin was so pale. Not when his hair was uncombed. Not when his face was this gaunt. Not when any minute, surely, he would die.

“No, no, I’m not going anywhere.” Italy breathed. He shed his coat and tossed it to the side. “This isn’t hay fever, is it? I’ll call someone. We’ll call someone. They can help us, okay?” 

“Italy…” 

“Why are you out of bed, Germany?” Italy asked as he dialed a number on his phone, his panic barely concealed. 

“I wanted… I had to do one damn thing by myself.” He felt something deep within him. A warning of what was to come. Germany would have given anything to keep it from happening now. “Leave. Now.” 

“What was Prussia’s number again?” Italy asked to himself, panicked. Either he hadn’t heard Germany, or he didn’t care to listen. 

“Ita-” His sentence was cut off by a cough. 

Italy looked up from his phone with a start. He looked unsure of what to do. “Germany, what do I do?” 

The words didn’t register as he continued to cough, trying to loosen that dreaded blockage in his throat. He was desperate for oxygen now. Just as he thought he was about to black out, he coughed out a full lily. He heaved for breath as well as he could with his shallow breaths. 

“Germany, what…?” His eyes widened. “A lily. Oh, Germany… no, no, no, no.” 

“Italy…” 

“I did this to you.” Italy realized, his eyes growing glassy with tears. 

“You didn’t-” Germany was cut off as he felt the flowers inside his body writhe and grow. God, so this was it. 

“Germany? Germany, what’s wrong?!” Italy cried. The tears spilled over his eyes and drew salty tracks down his cheeks. “You’re dying! It’s okay, I can fix this! I can fix it!” 

Germany looked up at Italy as his vision grew hazy. 

Italy leaned down and grabbed Germany by the shoulders, touching their lips together. 

Germany’s first kiss. In the middle of a tragedy. In a war with a predetermined winner. He shut his eyes as he knew that the edges of his vision were blackening. In a last moment of consciousness, he reached and grabbed Italy’s forearm with his weak grip. 

As Italy felt something like a stick press against his lips, he lurched away. Through his blurry vision, he could see Germany. He was facing up, his lips slightly parted as a long stem curled from his mouth. Blooming at the top was a large lily, the edges of the petals bordered in a deep maroon. Italy’s hands floated up to his open mouth. It was a beautiful kind of morbid. Under another circumstance, Italy may have been tempted to paint it. But now… oh, God, now. He turned around as he heard footsteps on the stairs. 

Prussia stood behind Italy, his violet eyes glinting with something sharp. Something deadly. “Italy.” 

“Prussia, I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t know… I’m so sorry about your brother.” The words came out in harried spurts. Heavy gasps littered the sentence, each gasp for air a stab in his own heart. What he wouldn’t do to give Germany the oxygen he so greedily stole from the air as he sobbed. 

“What did you do?” Prussia asked in a toneless voice. 

“I didn’t know, I- I just- I wanted to visit him- I didn’t want him to be- to be alone on New Year’s. And- and he was on the floor.” 

Prussia shook his head. “Why didn’t he just stay in bed?” 

Italy curled in on himself, his arms wrapping around his middle as he bowed his head. To an outsider, it would have looked like a sobbing mortal was begging a standing God for something that seemed impossible. Begging for something long past gone. Perhaps he was. 

Prussia kneeled at eye level with Italy. “Italy, this is not your fault.” 

“I never wished so much that I could love someone, Prussia. I’m so sorry I can’t.” 

Prussia’s steely expression melted into something entirely different. Something softer. “I know, Italy.” 

Italy lurched forward and captured Prussia’s middle in a desperate hug as he sobbed into his chest. 

Prussia, never a toucher, relented just this once. He wrapped his arms around Italy, giving him a hug he knew Italy wished came from Germany instead. 

Germany had no idea how much time had passed when he finally opened his eyes. He was able to stretch himself out and release the cricks in his neck before he remembered what happened the day before. Before he registered the person sitting where Prussia usually sat. “Italy?” His voice was gruff from sleep. 

Italy looked from the window and to Germany, appearing surprised. “Hi, Germany.” 

“Italy, I’m..” Hopelessly in love with you? Upset that you could never love me back? “Sorry.” 

Italy shook his head insistently. His face was unusually sober. “Don’t be. Please.” 

“How long have you been here?” 

“Since last night.” 

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” 

Italy shuffled in his seat. “You already said that.” 

Germany nodded. “Sorry.” 

The two sat in an awkward silence for a long moment, each wondering what they should say. Each thinking of what they wish they could say. 

“Is it okay if I ask-”

“No.” Germany interrupted. 

Italy leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped in his lap. “Please, Germany. I have to know. I have a right to know.” 

“Oh, do you?” Germany challenged, glowering at Italy. Perhaps this anger was undeserved. But it settled, coiled like a snake deep within his stomach. Whether he was actually angry at Italy, he didn’t know. 

“Yes. I do.” Italy challenged right back. His gaze and tone never faltered. “I’m the one who did this to you. I want to know what damage I inflicted.” 

“You didn’t do this.” 

Italy frowned levelly at him but said nothing. 

“Since the end of World War Two.” Germany answered, staring at the wall opposite of him. “When you came to visit my tent.” 

Italy’s frown loosened into something sad. Something pitying. 

Germany resented it. 

“I’m so sorry, Germany, I never knew.” 

“Don’t be.” 

Italy continued to look at him, his gaze assessing. 

It was a look Germany was not accustomed to. Not when it was directed at him. He had an overwhelming desire to make Italy direct that gaze upon something else. "It was very kind of you to stay overnight. I’ll see you at the meeting next week.” 

“Germany, please don’t-” 

“Make sure to bring your notes. We can combine them with Japan’s and-” 

“Don’t pretend nothing happened, German-” 

Germany raised his voice over Italy’s. He had no idea why he was doing this. He didn’t know why he was pushing Italy away when he wanted nothing more than for him to stay. “We can come up with a plan to increase tourism between our nations-” Was he really so desperate to stop this conversation that he was spouting nonsense? 

“Are you really going to kick me out?!” Italy shouted, his shrill voice on the verge of breaking. 

Germany stopped his panicked rant out of shock.

“Is this it, then? Are we- we’re just pretending that this didn’t happen? Are we pretending that you’re not going to die again later? We’re just going to be Italy and Germany, good ol’ buddies going on adventures with Japan?” Italy stumbled over his words. He wasn’t sure why he was angry. He didn’t know what he was feeling. He didn’t know what he was saying. He knew he didn’t love Germany. That’s the start of this whole mess in the first place. So what did he even want?

Germany blinked. “Make sure to have a presentation prepared on the current financial status of your nation.” 

Italy’s mouth gaped open before he recovered. He glowered at Germany, pulling his coat from the back of the chair. “Fine, then.” He jammed his arm into a sleeve, slamming the bedroom door behind him as he stormed out. 

Germany gazed at the slammed door. He swallowed. He huffed out a sigh, resting his forehead on his palms. Why did he handle that like such a child? Why couldn’t he just… talk it out? He couldn’t imagine what would happen if he had, of course, but at least there would have been something. Italy would… well he never thought he could love him in the first place, but now his chances were even more diminished. 

_“Sounds like you dug yourself into quite a hole there, West.” _

_“Don’t.” _

Prussia huffed out a breath as he leaned against the doorway._ “Don’t push away people who care about you when you’re in pain. Especially people who care for you as much as Italy.” _

_“He doesn’t care about me enough.”_

Prussia glared._ “Don’t you dare say that like he has a choice. You know that if he could, he would in a heartbeat.” _

_“If he…”_ Germany huffed out a breath as he looked up at his brother. _“I don’t actually blame him. Really. I know this isn’t his fault.” _

_“Good.”_ Prussia looked down at the ground. _“How he looked after you died... he was devastated.” _

_“He kissed me.” _Germany said suddenly. He had no idea where that came from. He didn’t know why he let that escape him. He didn’t know why he needed someone to know.

Prussia hummed, redirecting his gaze over Germany's shoulder and out the window. _“Was it some attempt to save you?” _

_“I suppose. It just made it worse.” _

Prussia hummed again but said nothing. 

Germany sat up and walked out the room, avoiding Prussia’s gaze as he brushed past him. He walked into the bathroom. Opened the cabinet and pulled out a comb. He brushed his hair, not bothering to gel it. He then set off for his room, determined to change. Prussia was not there when he went back. He changed into his usual black tank top and a pair of old fatigues. They were not needed at that moment, but it felt good to slip into something he was used to. He didn’t want to eat. He didn’t want to sleep, and surprisingly he didn’t want a drink of water.   
He walked down to the basement and turned on the light. He paced over to a metronome on a small table and got it started. Taking a deep breath, he listened to the familiar rhythmic ticking. Like a heart beat. He turned his head upon his drum set down in the basement. It was a secret habit of his. One that no one outside of him, his brother, and a couple others knew of. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and plugged it into the speakers. He started the guitar intro to a rock song and sat himself at the drums. Picking up the drumsticks, he waited for his cue.   
He slammed the tip of the drumsticks on one of the drums, relishing the feel of the stick on the taut skin of the instrument. He picked up his pace with the speed of the drum, losing himself to the pounding and got totally invested in the music. He could spend hours doing this. He has before. The feel of the drumbeat in his hand. The way it worked through his arms and shoulders. It was an exercise of the total upper body. The steady alignment of his heart beat with the beat of the drum. The way the sound almost drowned out the rest of the music. The steady ticking of the metronome falling into time with the sticks in his hand. He scarcely noticed as his brother came down the stairs. He didn’t cease drumming as Prussia strode over to his phone and stopped the music. Germany continued anyway. He knew the beats of the song by heart and wasn’t one to let a single beat fall out of the measured timing. He watched as Prussia walked over to his electric guitar and plugged it in. 

Prussia drew the strap over his head and waited for a point in the song where he could jump in with the proper chords. The sound of the guitar filled the basement and echoed off the walls and ceiling. 

Germany lost himself further to the music, enjoying the unity between his instrument and his brother’s. His arms began to develop a burning, satisfying ache. But nonetheless, he didn't stop. He couldn’t. Him stopping would stop the music. Stop the beats and the flow he had going. It was the ultimate stress reliever. It helped him even more than his usual workouts did. He stopped drumming where he knew the drummer in the song did, allowing Prussia to finish the last notes on his guitar. 

Prussia did a final strum, smirking as the last notes of the guitar faded into nothingness. His chest was heaving as he looked over at his brother. _“Awesome guitar skills, right?” _

_“You didn’t even practice, did you?”_ Germany knew his brother was virtually unmatched in guitar skills. Even before the electric guitar was invented, he was proficient in acoustic guitars. He was always more musically gifted than Germany, but it was still apparent to him that Prussia hadn’t spent much time practicing. 

_“Are you kidding me right now? I did that song perfectly! How could you tell?!”_ Prussia gaped at him. 

Germany shrugged, wishing for a drink of water. 

“You boys are really drumming up a storm down here!” A feminine voice said.

Germany turned toward the voice. 

Hungary was standing in the doorway, clad in a yellow sundress and heels. Her hair was pulled back in a braid, a yellow flower tucked behind her ear. “Hello, Ludwig.” 

“Elizabeta?” Germany asked, slightly surprised. 

Hungary raised an eyebrow. “You sound surprised to see me!” 

Germany also raised an eyebrow before he, along with Hungary, looked at Prussia. 

Prussia sheepishly shrugged his shoulders. “This seemed more like a problem for your older sister than your older brother! I’m not good with that… mushy-gushy… un-awesome feeling stuff.” 

Hungary furrowed her brow. “Yes… Gilbert, why don’t you make Ludwig and I a cup of tea and then we can talk?” 

Germany stood and sighed, steadying his metronome. “Here we go.”

Hungary nodded. “We have a lot to talk about.”


	9. Damage Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Ludwig's huge mistake, Hungary comes by to give some sisterly advice... with some trouble along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cringes and updates the fic* It now occurs to me that while this is a fun fanfic to write, it's not quite so fun to read.   
Oops.

Several minutes later they sat around the table. Steaming cups of tea that none of them were drinking sat in front of them. Germany sat across from Hungary at the table, Prussia seated at the head. His eyes were flickering between the two, almost as if he were watching a fencing duel and he was wondering who would strike first. 

“So. Italy.” 

Germany grunted. “Yes.” 

“What about him?” 

Germany raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know what happened?” 

“Gilbert wouldn’t tell me.” Hungary shrugged, smiling. "Perhaps it was for the best. No offense, Gilbert, but this isn't exactly your area.” 

“Wow, Gilbert, thanks for calling me to help my ‘little brother’.” Prussia muttered under his breath, bitterly sipping his tea. 

“You just called me here because you didn’t want to deal with this!” Hungary protested. 

“I beg to differ!” Prussia protested, setting his mug down with a little more force than what was required. “I tried! But then he got all mad and stormed out!” 

Hungary raised a questioning eyebrow toward Germany. 

“He just remarked that I dug myself into a huge hole.” Germany said. 

“Gilbert…” Hungary grimaced. 

Prussia cupped his hands around his mouth. “Traitor.” He mouthed to Germany.

Germany shook his head minutely. 

“I said way more than that! You just told her the bad stuff. I’ll shave off your eyebrows tonight in revenge.” Prussia whispered. 

“I’d offer to shave yours off in retaliation, but it wouldn’t even make a difference.” Germany muttered under his breath. 

Prussia gasped. He turned his head to Hungary. “Did you just hear that?! He’s picking on me!” 

“No I’m not, I’m just making conversation.” 

“You son of a bitch, you’re picking on me!” Prussia protested, whipping his head back to face his brother. 

“You picked on me first.” 

“Are you saying I started it?” 

“Boys, please.” Hungary interrupted, folding her hands. 

“I’m not even doing anything.” Ludwig protested. 

Hungary huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing her eyes. This was harder than she thought it would be. 

“Oh my God, he’s touching me!” Prussia cried.

Hungary looked up. 

Germany was holding his finger about half an inch away from Prussia’s cheekbone. His other elbow was propping up his arm on the table, his face resting on his hand. “I’m not touching you. I’m giving you plenty of space.” 

“He’s touching me!” 

“Does it look like I’m touching you?” Germany retaliated, the corners of his mouth barely turned up. 

“You’re practically touching me!” 

“That doesn’t mean I’m actually touching you.” 

Prussia growled. “If you don’t stop touching me, I’m gonna’-” 

“Do what? I’m not even touching you.” Germany had a touch of challenge in his voice. 

With his jaw set, Prussia growled and launched himself across the table, reaching for Germany. 

They were now sitting on either end of the table, a brooding Hungary sitting in the middle between them. Prussia glowered at Germany, Germany innocently gazing at Hungary. 

“Right.” Hungary bit out. “Boys, please behave so we can continue the conversation. Especially you, Gil.” 

“That wasn’t even me!” Prussia protested, looking like he scarcely believed what she was saying. 

“You’re older. You should know better.” 

“But- Liz, he’s a grown man!” 

“So are you.” Germany said calmly, looking as if he were thoroughly enjoying this exchange. 

“That’s enough out of you, Ludwig. You're trying to instigate.” 

Germany nodded. “Okay.” 

“Kiss-ass.” Prussia muttered under his breath. 

Germany looked at his brother. “I’m trying to be mature and move on!” 

“Nobody likes a suckup!"

Hungary shook her head and groaned. “For the love of God, can the two of you shut up?” 

Prussia huffed out a sigh. “Fine. Sorry.”

“Now what happened? Why was I called over?” 

Germany stared down at the table, wondering how he was supposed to continue. “Well… last night my hanahaki was particularly bad… I got out of bed because I wanted more tea and I just wanted to do something by myself.” 

Hungary nodded kindly. ‘That’s perfectly understandable.” 

Germany paused. He wasn’t unthankful for the positive affirmation, but it was strange. “… right. So I fell over and I started coughing. Then… Italy was standing there. I tried to get him to leave because I didn’t want him to see me like that, then I coughed up a lily. By that point, he figured out what was going on and he started blaming himself. I knew I was going to die in seconds, so I tried to get him to leave. He knew I was dying, so he… tried to save me.” 

Hungary frowned. “How?” 

“He- take a wild guess.” 

Hungary paused or a moment, then nodded understandingly. “… I see. Did anything happen after that? Did he go home?” 

“Quite the opposite.” Prussia added, his voice sober. “He refused to leave Germany’s bedside. I sent him to the kitchen for a cup of… something. I mean, Jesus, after what he saw he was welcome to any of it. That’s when I yanked out the flowers. When he came up, he refused to leave Germany’s bedside until he woke up next morning.” 

Hungary nodded. “Good idea.” 

“So the next morning I woke up, he made sure I was okay, then he went home.” Germany summarized. 

“No, he didn’t.” Hungary protested. 

Germany raised an eyebrow. 

“Gilbert wouldn’t have called me over if that was all.” 

Germany heaved a sigh. He had tried to worm his way out of the uncomfortable conversation, but apparently Hungary wouldn't allow it. “He tried to get me to talk about it and I wouldn’t. We had a fight, then he left.” 

“If you don’t mind my asking-”

“It was bad.” Germany answered. “I ignored the conversation entirely and started talking about the upcoming meeting.” 

Hungary hissed in a breath. “Oh, honey, no.” 

“Oh, honey, yes.” Prussia said gravely. “Italy stormed out. I didn’t even know he was capable of storming out.” 

Hungary nodded. “He and his brother are similar in that regard. They know how to make an exit.” 

Germany also nodded. “And he hasn’t called. Not surprising, but I wonder if he will.” 

Hungary hummed and rested her chin on her folded hands. “Give him space.”

“How much? For how long?” 

“I’m not sure.” She answered gravely. “Just wait for him to come to you first.” 

“And let him think I’m ignoring him?” Germany asked. 

Hungary gave him a pitying look. “Ludwig, you don’t do well with emotional confrontation.” 

“You’re right. It will be hard not to do anything, but I can do that. Do I tell Japan?” 

Hungary furrowed her brow. She folded her hands again, staring down at the table. “I’m not sure.” 

“I say ‘no’.” Prussia decided. “It’s between the two of you. I don’t like being tangled up in other people’s drama and I know Japan’s the same way.”

“Could be.” Hungary nodded. “But he’s also your guys’ best friend. He’s bound to figure out something’s wrong.” 

Germany groaned. “I don’t want to make this worse.” 

“I appreciate that, Ludwig.” Hungary said. “I’m honestly not sure what to do.” 

Prussia brightened. “I know, you need help from the awesome me! I’m pretty good with this kind of thing.” He leaned forward on the table. “Just wait until the meeting next week! You and Italy can kind of feel out your situation or whatever, then if Japan asks any questions you two can figure it out as you go along.” 

“That doesn’t sound like a plan at all.” Hungary said.

“No. I can’t improvise.” Germany protested. “That’s just not what I do. I need a plan.” 

Hungary furrowed her brow. “I don’t know if we can come up with one for something like this. There’s no way to do that without knowing how Italy feels.” 

“The two of you are close, right?” Prussia began, turning to Hungary. “What if you kind of check on him and gave us an idea?” 

“How Italy feels is none of your business.” Hungary said not unkindly. 

“He never asked you to spy on him, or anything.” Germany said. “But… maybe if you just went and checked on him. Gilbert’s right. I know the two of you are rather close, maybe if you just went to see if he’s alright. You don't even have to tell us anything."

Hungary smiled. “Oh, that’s a good idea!” 

Germany studied her, brow furrowed. “You were already going to do that, weren’t you?” 

“We’re going to get lunch today. But that’s still a nice thought.” Hungary amended. 

Germany just hummed. 

“Well, I’m off to do more damage control.” Hungary sighed, standing. She grabbed her purse by her feet. “Take care of yourselves, you two.” She rounded the table to Germany. 

Germany stood, accepting Hungary’s hug. “You too, Eliza.” 

“Oh, I’ll be just fine!” Hungary grinned, pulling away. “You know I’m tougher than I look!”

“I would know more than anyone.” Prussia said, also standing. 

Hungary strode forward, hugging Prussia as well. “Mm… I still owe you for the crotch cloth.” 

Prussia pulled away immediately, grimacing. The very tips of his ears were flushed pink. “I thought we agreed to drop that! Didn’t you pay me back enough?” 

“I don’t think she could.” Germany took his seat again, smiling slightly at his older brother’s discomfort.

“How many times…” Prussia rolled his eyes. “If I’d have known she was a girl-” 

“I’m just pulling your leg, Gilbert. It’s too easy!” Hungary laughed. She rested her hand on Germany’s shoulder as she passed and strode to the door. “Take care of him, Lud.” 

“I'll try." Germany said, sipping his cup of tea.

“Hey! I’m the older brother!” Prussia protested.

Hungary laughed, not responding as she left the house. 

Prussia collapsed in his seat, grumbling under his breath. 

Ludwig smirked, lowering his cup of tea to the table. “Enjoyed that hug, didn’t you, Gil?” 

“Shut up.” Prussia snapped, his ears and neck warming into a bright pink.


	10. Weird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the confrontation between him and Italy, Germany must attend a meeting where Italy will be present.

Germany sighed into the mirror. He was in a navy suit, a white button up shirt, and a matching navy tie. He knew that if Italy were here, he would try to convince him to perhaps add a little more color to his ensemble. Maybe wear a patterned tie. He felt a pang in his heart. So today was the day. Germany coughed into his elbow, turning away from the mirror. He double checked that his suitcase was on the desk. He knew everything was in there. He’d already checked twice. Once last night, once this morning. He usually just checked once the day that he left. He was organized enough to know where everything was. But he was one to fidget around and complete tasks that didn’t need to be done when he was nervous.

And this was the most nervous he’d been in a long time. 

He buttoned up the navy-blue suit jacket, pulling his suitcase off the desk. His feet fell heavily down the stairs as he paced down to the ground floor. There he found his older brother, waiting expectantly for him. 

_“What took you so long?”_ Prussia asked. Despite the teasing lilt to his voice, his face betrayed anxiety. 

Germany peered over at Prussia. He knew his brother’s anxiety was on his behalf. _"Sorry.” _

_“You ready for the meeting?” _He asked, pushing open the front door. 

Germany stepped out, peering up at the cloudy sky. _“Probably.” _

_“Whatever happens happens.”_ Prussia said nonchalantly, unlocking the doors to his car. 

_“Easy for you to say.” _

_“Perhaps.” _Prussia opened the driver’s side door. _“Either way, I’m going to have to put up with your complaining whenever we get home, so… who’s really having the worse time here?” _

Germany buckled his seat belt, staring at Prussia with a harrowing glare. 

_“Too soon?” _

_“You could say that.”_ Germany grunted. 

_“Right. I’ll give it a couple months.” _

Germany remained silent as Prussia backed out of the driveway. 

_“Several?” _

Germany didn’t dignify Prussia with a response. 

_“A year?” _

_“Gilbert?” _

_“Yes?”_ Prussia started his car down the road. 

_"Stop talking.” _

Prussia shrugged as his car gained speed. _“That’s fair.”_

The two remained silent as Prussia leaned forward, taking immediate control of the aux chord. Germany was not surprised in the slightest as the first thing to come up was some pop song from the early nineties that he barely recognized. Prussia’s playlist was a terrible mix of fast classic, 80’s and 90’s pop, some of his favorite soundtracks, rock and roll and, surprisingly, a hint of Celine Dion. Somehow, for his disaster of a brother, it was like the perfect soundtrack to describe him as a person. 

They pulled up to the building that was supposed to house the international conference. It was at Sweden’s place this year. Germany liked Sweden okay, he supposed. It wasn’t like he knew him too well, but he supposed the two got along. At social gatherings, they often found peace with each other as they stood by the punch bowl, not talking, relaxing in their mutual silence. 

_“You have any presentations you’re supposed to do, West?”_ Prussia asked, unbuckling his seat belt. He looked in the rearview mirror, preening.

_“Not today.”_ Germany sighed, also unbuckling. He reached down at his feet and grabbed his laptop bag. _“Just keeping things in order as usual, I suppose.” _

The two walked silently side-by-side, ignoring the attention that Germany was getting. Germany supposed that the attention Prussia got was similar to how the siblings of many celebrities got attention. There wasn’t much going on in the news cycles about them usually, but occasionally something would pop up. The teens of the world, however, were quite enamored with Prussia. His Instagram had almost as many followers as Germany’s, and he was still often stopped in the streets for pictures. 

Prussia pretended to act annoyed, but Germany knew that he was relieved to have a following. Besides. However much he tried to hide it, Germany knew Prussia loved his fans as much as they loved him. 

They stepped into the conference room, setting their stuff down in front of their seats. Everybody else was standing in small groups, chatting idly as they waited for the meeting to finally begin. Surprisingly, Italy, Spain, Romano, and Belgium were already grouped together. 

Italy glanced up with an unreadable expression, caught Germany’s eye, and turned back to the debate Spain and Belgium seemed to be having. 

Germany frowned to himself, reaching down and unzipping the pocket in his bag where he kept his notebook. 

_“He’ll come around.”_ Prussia muttered as he passed Germany to the section of the table where the micronations usually sat. _“Don’t worry about it.” _

Germany just grunted. He set his notebook on the table as Prussia walked away, lining up three pens beside each other. Well, there was no excuse anymore. He had to talk to people. Like a lone child in a cafeteria, he looked around at the various groups for someone to talk to. He underestimated just how much her relied on Italy dragging him around to socialize. He caught Japan’s eye as he was beginning to lose hope. Japan’s small smile beckoned him over to where he stood with America, England, France, and Canada. 

“Hi, Germany! It’s good to see you here.” Canada greeted pleasantly. His left hand was wrapped around a red Tim Horton’s cup, the other deep in his pocket. 

“Good to be here.” Germany responded as he stopped. 

“How are your dogs doing?” Canada asked. 

Germany smiled slightly. “As well as ever."

What had originally started as part of a punishment led to an unlikely friendship between Germany and Canada. It was a slightly distant one, with Canada sending Germany funny dog-related jokes and memes he happened to find on Instagram. They didn’t exchange many words outside of the subject of dogs and pets, but they found a common ground. 

“We’re going to need to schedule a visit or something, soon.” Canada grinned. “Kuma’s missed them a lot.” 

France shook his head distastefully. “I could never understand dog people. Cats are superior.” 

“Really?” England asked, an eyebrow raised. “At least dogs actually care about you. You could just keel over dead one day and your cat likely would only notice when his food finally ran out.” 

“You’re similar to a cat in that regard, England. Distant.” France said dryly. “Perhaps if you would accept my dinner invitation sometime, that would change.” 

“Nice try, Frog.” 

America shook his head, rolling his eyes. “You guys are so weird. England, you two are literally engaged. Like, to be married. Little late to turn down that date.” 

Germany blinked. “What?” Wait, were the two even dating?

France raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t know?” 

Germany was unsure how to respond.

“We’re engaged.” England raised his left hand with a slight smile, displaying a plain silver band. “Recently, albeit, but I thought you knew!” 

Germany let out a rare smile. “Congratulations!” Germany reached forward and shook their hands. “Since when?” 

“About a month ago.” France said with a smile. “Dinner with candlelight, roses on the table… didn’t know he had it in him.” 

“Physically pained me.” England grimaced. “It was all so… so… French.” 

“Oh, stop it, England.” France smiled at his fiancé. “We were walking in the moonlight on a bridge… the breeze was blowing… and he got down on one knee, and he said-” 

“Okay, that’s enough detail, there.” England said. “So, yes. We’re engaged now.” 

Germany nodded, still processing. “I’ve got to confess, this seems sudden.” 

“Really?” America asked with a raised brow. He traded a glance with Canada. 

“Well I mean…” Germany cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Were you two in a relationship?” 

France and England looked at each other, each with slight smiles on their faces. 

France sighed. “That’s so you, Germany. Yes, we are in a relationship. We have been since the 1960’s!” 

Germany blinked stupidly. “Wait, wait, wait. Did anyone else know?” 

“Well, I mean, we never made it official…” England shrugged. 

America scoffed. “You two made it official that time you got drunk, pulled France into your lap, and kissed the hell out of him.” 

“That’s enough out of you!” England chastised, beet red. 

Again, Germany blinked. That was about the last thing he could imagine prim, proper England doing. Regardless, he didn’t let his disbelief show. “Congratulations. Forgive me, but I’m surprised your governments even allowed it.” 

“About that…” France sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. 

“They… don’t know?” 

Canada grimaced. “No. Technically, no.” 

England shrugged. “Nothing wrong with a little rebellion, I say. When it is the proper time.” 

“Oh, _now _there’s nothing wrong with rebellion.” America deadpanned. 

Germany, glancing at a clock on the wall, noticed the time. “It’s about time to start the meeting.” 

“Thank goodness.” Canada muttered. “It was about to get pretty darn awkward in here.” 

Germany turned away from the group. “Everyone, please grab a seat. It’s time to begin.” 

The nations all returned to their usual seats at the table, Germany determinedly avoiding Italy’s gaze as he sat beside him. It was clear to him that Italy was not interested in talking to him. He fought the urge to confront his friend, reminding himself that Hungary had said it was best to give him some space. He suddenly wished that rather than sitting at America’s side, Japan was sitting with them. He cleared his throat after everyone had grabbed their seats at the table, all of them looking expectantly at him. 

Everyone except for Italy, who seemed to be very interested in his cuticles. 

“Thank you, everyone, for coming. I’m sure everyone will join me in thanking Sweden for generously hosting the meeting this year.”

There were general mutterings of gratitude around the table, Sweden nodding stoically in recognition. 

“I emailed everyone the itinerary last week. I trust you all printed it out and brought it with you.” 

There was a collective rustling as a few people pulled their itinerary’s out of whatever bag they kept it in. A few, like Japan, Canada, and Prussia already had theirs out. Germany couldn’t help but notice that Italy, too, bent at the waist to retrieve his. It would usually be at this point that Italy would ask if he could share Germany’s itinerary because he forgot to print his. Germany ignored the pang in his chest as he opened the cover page. 

“As everyone can see, the-” His sentence was interrupted as he coughed into his hand. Everyone in the former allied powers lifted their heads, watching Germany warily. 

Japan glanced up.

Italy, on the other hand, focused so hard on his itinerary that he could probably burn holes into the paper with his vision. 

Germany stopped coughing. “Pardon me.” And he finally began the meeting. 

Following the meeting, no one was really in a rush to part from each other. Given how busy the nations were in their day-to-day lives, many of them didn’t end up seeing each other that often. It took determination to get together with a fellow nation. So when Denmark brought up the idea of everyone going out to a bar afterword to spend more time together, many of the nations accepted the idea with fervor.

Germany glanced over at Italy. Italy’s face was already turned to him, an unreadable expression on his face. As Italy saw Germany saw him, he immediately turned away back to whatever current conversation was going between his friends. Germany deflated slightly, packing up his things to go. 

“Hey, bro, do you want to go with me and the boys tonight?” Prussia asked. “Spain and France would love the company!”

Germany avoided eye contact, shoving his notebook in his bag with far more concentration than what was required. “No, I’m feeling a little tired. I may just head home.” 

Prussia nodded, his gaze turning to Italy on the other side of the room. “Come to think of it, I’m a little tired too. Wanna’ just head back?” 

“You really don’t have to do this.” 

“I know,” Prussia smirked. “It’s what makes me such an awesome older brother.” 

“Somehow, your gloating takes away from the sincerity of your offer.” 

“Is that a ‘yes’, then?” Prussia asked with a raised brow. 

Germany furrowed his brow. “If you truly want to go back. If you’re doing this out of pity…” 

“I’ll say goodbye to the boys and we can head out.” Prussia offered, turning to leave before Germany could protest any longer. 

When they left, Germany didn’t bother to turn around. He thought he knew what he would see. But had he taken the chance, perhaps he would have seen the longing glance that followed him out the door. Perhaps he would have seen Italy take a hesitant step forward before he was able to control himself and stand back where he was.   
Perhaps he would have decided to stay after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed the holidays! I know I took a break without warning, but hey! Holidays! However, I'm going to try and get a New Year's Fic out. Just a drabble, is all.


	11. Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Japan, exhausted with his friends and being left out of the loop, decides to intervene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. Bit of a gap between last chapter and now. Oof.

Japan was exhausted. Not physically, but mentally. Dare he say, emotionally. For the past few months, he could tell there was something going on between his best friends. Japan could guess it was romantic, of course he could. He knew there was something wrong with Germany, too. Several decades of them only getting together every several months. It somehow felt… wrong.   
Japan had a fairly good idea of what the root of this problem was. He suspected Italy did, too. Japan’s country had the first case of hanahaki, after all. If anyone should be familiar with the symptoms, it was him. The only question was how to approach it. 

Japan knocked on Germany’s door, not surprised when Prussia was the one to answer it. 

Prussia’s eyebrows raised questioningly. “Japan?” 

“Good evening, Prussia. I apologize for coming without warning, but I needed to talk to Germany for a minute.” 

Prussia furrowed his brow and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. He’s pretty tired and I think he’s down for a nap.” 

“Forgive me for being presumptuous, but I assume he’s not feeling well?” 

“Ehh…” Prussia said with a shrug. “You know how Germany is. He could lose an entire arm and chalk it up to a paper cut.” 

“Again, forgive me, but am I right in assuming he has hanahaki?” 

Prussia blinked. “What are you- how did you know?” 

“I know the symptoms well. I have suspected it for a fair amount of time now, but it was only last week at the meeting that I realized Italy knew as well. I need to talk to him.” 

“I don’t know.” Prussia said with a furrowed brow. “He really isn’t feeling too good.” 

“Please, I will not be long.” Japan pleaded. 

Prussia opened the door wider. “You’re lucky you don’t ask for too much.” It was said without hostility, but a certain kind of reluctance Japan wasn't accustomed to Prussia having. 

“Thank you, Mr. Prussia.” 

“Prussia, please. How many times do I have to say it? You make me sound old.” Prussia kicked the door shut with a chicken-slipper-clad foot.

Japan took his shoes off, leaving them neatly by the door. “Thank you, Prussia. I won’t be long.” 

“I’m about to order a pizza if you want some when you’re done.” Prussia offered. 

Japan held up a hand. “Thank you, but I have a prior engagement.” Prior engagements being a video game marathon with America that evening. 

“Ah, okay. More for me, then. He’s right down the hall.” Prussia said, waving in the general direction of the hallway. “Third door on the right.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Oh, and Japan?” 

Japan turned mid-step. 

“Whatever you’re about to do, thanks. You’re good with this stuff. I wish I could help him more, but… y’know. I’m not good at this, and… just try to talk some sense into him, okay?” 

“Trust me, I plan to. Thank you, Prussia.” 

Prussia shrugged. “It’s whatever. Just… he doesn’t look so hot. So be ready for that, I guess.” 

Japan nodded. “Thank you.” 

Wordlessly, Prussia paced into the kitchen and out of sight. 

Japan walked down the hallway, taking a deep breath as he approached the door. It had a small crack in it, allowing Japan to see light coming from within. He pushed his way through quietly.   
Germany looked up curiously from the book he was reading, his face registering shock. 

Japan could feel his face fall into a rare look of surprise as he looked at Germany. His blond hair, usually thick and bright, was dull and thin lying over his forehead. His eyes were surrounded with dark bags, the whites of his eyes bloodshot. His skin was sallow, his cheeks hollowed out. His arms, usually muscled, seemed thin and frail. He looked almost like a skeleton. Japan fought the urge to look away.

“Japan?” Germany’s voice was dry, cracking as he spoke. “You have to leave, I’m not feeling well.” 

“Hanahaki,” Japan simply said, coming forward and sitting down next to the bed, “is not contagious.” 

“What are you talking about?” Germany said, turning his head away from Japan. He couldn’t seem to find the strength to lift his arm and cover his mouth as he coughed up several lily petals, the edges tinged with red.

Japan raised an eyebrow. 

“… those are from lunch.” Germany said. 

“Was that a joke?” 

Germany gave a barely-there shrug. 

“You really are sick.” Japan replied. 

Germany just looked at him. 

Japan reached forward and picked up a red-tinged petal, turning it idly and inspecting it. “If I may ask, how long have you had it?” 

“Since the end of the second world war.” 

Japan glanced up in surprise. “Is that so?” 

Germany looked away. 

“Does Italy know?”

He cringed slightly. 

“I see. If I may ask, how did he react?” 

“He… just wanted to know about it. How long I had it, that sort of thing.” 

“Did you tell him?” 

Again, Germany cringed at Japan. 

“I see.” Japan nodded. “So here we are.” 

“Here I am.” Germany said grimly, coughing again. 

Japan stayed silent, waiting for Germany to open up further. 

Several moments passed before Germany looked back up at Japan. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” 

“There is no need to apologize.” 

“There is. You are mine and Italy’s best friend. I daresay you are as involved with this as we are.” 

Japan agreed, but said nothing. 

Germany rattled in a breath. “You’re good at reading the atmosphere, right?” 

Japan hesitated. “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m good at it.” 

“Without modesty, are you good at it?” 

Again, Japan hesitated. “Yes.” 

“What should I do about this? Prussia and Hungary said I should give him space, but… I just want to fix this.” 

“It really isn’t my place to meddle with your personal affairs.” Not directly. Influencing was technically not meddling, right?

Germany grunted, resting his head against the headboard. He shut his sunken eyes. “I don’t expect him to… fall in love with me. That wouldn’t be fair. But… if we could just go back to the way it was…” 

Japan studied Germany, taken aback with this emotional honesty. Though the two were close, there was still some barrier between them. It was the same barrier the two put up in front of everyone else, but with both of theirs together it could sometimes seem as though there was a chasm stretched between them. “Perhaps it is not for me to say, but it has to be said. You two need to stop avoiding each other. There is only one way to come back from this, and that is for you two to talk.” 

“I tried.” Germany said. 

“No, you didn’t.” 

Germany turned his head to Japan, slightly surprised at the direct attitude. 

“You evaded the conversation. I grant you, It was not fair for Italy to ask those things of you. However, it was also not fair for you to turn him away without an open dialogue.” 

“You’re right.” 

“I am sorry to be so direct, but if I am honest, I feel that it was best that I tell you.” 

“It was. You’re right.” 

“I do not know what you will do, however. I do not know what I, even, would do in that situation.”

Germany sighed through his nose, short and shallow. “That makes the two of us.” His blinks became slower, his vision unfocused. “I’m sorry, Japan, I’m just… so tired. So tired these days.” 

“Would you like me to leave?” 

Germany looked over to him. Hesitated. “If I’m honest, no. I don’t.” 

Japan nodded. He reached forward and pulled the bed covers up to Germany’s shoulders, grabbing his paper bookmark off the bedside table and placing it between the pages. He set it on the bedside table as Germany struggled to wriggle his head down onto the pillow. 

Germany got himself settled, his eyes half-shut. “I know I don’t tell you this enough, but you’re a good friend. Italy and I are lucky to have you.” 

Japan allowed a small smile at the honesty. He looked back on who he used to be without Germany and Italy’s friendship. Alone in his own house. He had rejected his older brother, so he was really left alone for a while. To have Germany and Italy there with him warmed him from the inside out. “I’m lucky to have you two as well.” 

Germany’s eyes slid shut, his breathing turning long, but shallow. 

Japan knew Germany had instantly fallen asleep. Nonetheless, he found himself sitting in that chair. Thinking. About the pain his friend had suffered through for all these years. How he somehow kept it under wraps for this many years. What was it like, feeling so alone back then? In his mind's eye, he saw Germany's expression as he asked Japan to stay until he fell asleep. What must it be like to feel so alone, even now? Japan thought back to a time when the three of them were close. His heart dropped in his chest as he realized that was probably the last time Germany felt like he could confide in someone he trusted other than his older brother. His phone buzzed in his pocket with a text from America asking if everything was okay. Japan slid the phone back in his pocket, stood, and gazed at his bedridden friend. 

In the burning red light of the sun, the hollows and sharp angles of Germany's face were even more dramatic than before. Japan stepped forward and pulled Germany's covers up to his shoulders. Timidly, he reached forward and tenderly swept his bangs off of his sweaty forehead. He wasn't sure what made him do it. He had almost an aversion to physical touch. But the goosebumps riddling his friend's skin, the sweat on his face and forehead, it evoked an intense desire to help Germany however he could. 

But he had already done all he could do. So, reluctantly, he stepped out of the room, and out of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2020 is the year that we finally appreciate Japan.


	12. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, a conversation occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lawd, here we go. 
> 
> It's early, I know, but after making y'all go through so many chapters without a real conversation between Germany and Italy, you are owed this. XD

For the next several weeks it was the same for Germany. He died the next week, had a couple days free of that dreaded itch in his throat, then coughed his lungs out. Multiple times. Japan seemed extremely interested in getting the three of them together, but Germany found that he was turning down the invitations. He didn’t want to push Italy into an unwanted confrontation. But he found his patience waning as more and more time passed. There was a Euro meeting that week and Germany was miraculously well enough to attend. He was still coughing frequently, but he was certain that at that point most, if not all the European nations knew to some degree what was going on. He dreaded the answer to that silent question, keeping it to himself. He hazarded a subtle glance to Italy after the meeting, hoping for any sign that Italy was ready to approach him. For any change in his posture. Italy had caught his eye, regarding Germany with a strange, unreadable expression. Though Italy wore his heart on his sleeve, he had appeared to do a good job of keeping his emotions under wraps. 

Italy’s back was turned at this moment, however, chatting to his brother about someplace to go for lunch. Germany was disappointed, but not surprised as he packed away his laptop. Japan’s words to him echoed in his mind, telling him he couldn't stay silent forever. He had to take action somehow. But he could not choke back the fear of being rejected again. Of making a wrong step. Or annihilating whatever fragile progress they had made by approaching Italy. He had to leave. 

Germany left the building, his mind scrambling to think of anything except the man he left behind in that conference room. Thinking about paperwork. Cleaning. His dogs needed bathed and their hair cut. Italy needed a hair cut. It was just a tad bit too long, reaching to the nape of his neck. Those hairs curled slightly when they got that long. Germany determinedly shook away the thought, coughing into his elbow. He finally pushed out of the building, descending the steps and trying to remember what floor of the parking garage he parked on. 

“Germany!” 

Germany froze at the bottom of the steps. He knew that voice. Loved it. Dreaded it. Needed it. Hesitantly, he turned around. 

Italy, who had originally stood at the top of the steps, descended swiftly, multiple papers flying out of his arms as he bolted down to where Germany was. He almost tripped on an untied shoelace, but recovered and skidded to a halt in front of Germany. 

Italy huffed in breaths as he rambled. “Germany, I- I need you to listen. I know I should probably keep giving you space, and I know you’re probably not ready to talk. But… I’m sick of this! I’m sick of not being your friend anymore! I miss you, Germany, and… even if I can’t- can’t fall in love with you, I want to be with you as a friend. I’m sorry you can’t be to me what I am to you, but if you’ll have me, I want to be your friend again! And you were right, you don’t owe me any kind of explanation! I was just scared, and mad, and I wanted something to hold on to, I guess, but it was none of my business! Even if it was about me, that’s private and I don’t know why I felt like I needed to know! I talked to Japan, and he agreed with me! And he’s also sick of us not all being friends! But this part doesn’t involve him, Germany, because this is your decision. So… so if you want me as your friend, I will be that to you.” 

Germany blinked, trying to process the rapid-fire words. “So… you were giving me space?” 

“Yeah.” Italy nodded, still breathing heavily. “Romano said it was a good idea.” 

Despite himself, Germany could feel himself smile slightly. “I was giving you space, too. Hungary told me to.” 

Italy also smiled timidly. “I wanted to talk to you the minute I left.” 

“I wanted to, as well.” Germany coughed.

Italy laughed to himself, running a hand through his hair. “All of this was completely unnecessary, huh?” 

“I suppose it was.” Germany agreed, adjusting his computer bag. 

Italy looked down at his shoes, uncharacteristically quiet. “D’you want to call Japan and see if we can all get lunch?” 

“Yeah.” Germany nodded, coughing into his hand through a smile. “I would like that very much.” 

Italy pulled out his phone, grinning. “I think he would like that even more. He’s probably exhausted with us.” 

“I wouldn’t blame him.” Germany said, waving Italy alongside him as he began the trek back to his car. He coughed into a gloved hand. “I’m exhausted with us too.” 

Italy beamed, following his friend as he dialed Japan’s number. “I’m excited for lunch, Germany. The three of us have so much to catch up on!” 

“We do, don’t we?” Germany smiled timidly to himself, following Italy as he called Japan.

The friendship, though timid, was eventually back to normal. The three of them were thick as thieves once again, meeting up constantly. They bounced between each other’s houses, restaurants, and bars. Much to Italy’s dismay, Germany attempted to get the three back on an exercise regimen. Though they seemed to have become accustomed to Germany’s cough, they hung out less frequently than they did before Germany got sick. Many of Germany’s days were, after all, spent in bed. Occasionally, Japan would come by to keep him company. Italy, however, always had something going on coincidentally whenever Germany was bed-bound. It could be said that Germany was emotionally dense, but he knew that it was a sense of guilt that drove his unreciprocated love away from him. As time went by, however, it was an arrangement that everyone had gotten accustomed to. Even Germany had almost forgotten what it was to live without flowers growing in his lungs, spreading like a tumor through his near indestructible body. 

It was about a year later when Italy and Germany were walking down a street in Berlin, having just gone out for lunch. Japan was absent, having gone to Greece’s for a visit. It was autumn, the two of them walking down a cobblestone street. An atmospheric wind caressed them as they walked, fallen leaves scraping and bouncing against the uneven ground. The air smelled faintly dank as they walked. This caused Germany to pause and peer into the grey, overcast sky. 

“It looks like it’s going to rain. Do you know what the forecast was for today, Italy?” Germany’s breath steamed into the air as he spoke. 

Italy also gazed into the sky, frowning. He drew his newsboy cap further down over his forehead. “Why would I? It's not my country.” 

Germany glanced over to his friend, frowning slightly before he shrugged. “Point taken.” He continued the walk, picking up the pace slightly. “Perhaps we can make it back to my place before it rains.” 

Almost as if on cue, a roll of thunder followed his words. Germany glared. “Perfect.” 

A sheet of rain fell upon them, Italy screaming as the two looked at each other and began bolting down the sidewalk. They received questioning, pitying glances from those cozy inside the shops and passing cars as they ran, the back of Germany’s trench coat hitting his heels. It was becoming heavy on his frame, but did not yet soak through with rain. He glanced over to his compatriot, who was surprisingly keeping a steady pace with him. “Why can’t you run this fast while we’re training?!” He bellowed over the sound of rain hitting brick. 

Italy watched ahead as he ran, though a smile split onto his face. “Proper motivation will do that!” His hair looked dark brown, his bangs plastered to his forehead despite his hat. His tan jacket was almost completely soaked through, but this appeared to do nothing to dampen his spirits. 

Germany smiled to himself at the response. They ran for a little longer before Germany happened to spot something in his periphery. He frowned, slowing to a stop. Was that… fur? He turned to look down the alleyway, turning his head fractionally as he heard Italy’s voice. 

“Germany? Why’d you stop?! We’re going to get colds!” His voice was far enough to tell Germany that it took a minute for Italy to realize Germany had stopped.

Germany turned his head over. “I think I see something.” He walked toward the alleyway, his approach slowing. 

Italy, close behind him, gasped at what he saw. 

A puppy, hunched in a pitiful shelter of soaked cardboard, stared dejectedly up at them. Its ribs, visible through its rust colored fur, seemed even more prominent against soaked skin. 

Germany crouched down slowly. “Easy… it’s okay.” His voice was so soft that he wondered if the dog could hear it over the rain. 

The puppy apparently could, its ears perking up slightly. 

Germany cautiously reached a hand out. “How long have you been out here, huh?” 

The puppy poked a tiny snout out of his shelter, sniffing Germany’s gloved hand. 

“House trained.” Germany realized, reaching out to pet the puppy on the head. 

The puppy pressed into Germany’s gloved hand like it was touch starved, its tail wagging so hard its entire rear end followed its progress. 

“Wait, so it was just left here by its owner?” Italy asked, his voice laden with pity. 

Germany slowly withdrew his hand and shed his coat, coughing into his elbow. “Seems like it. It’s very trusting of me.” 

As Germany took his hand back, the puppy followed it, sniffing. 

“Poor thing.” Italy crooned. 

Germany reached forward, grabbing the puppy by the stomach. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” He drew the puppy to his chest, straightening into a standing position. 

The puppy reached up with its snout, licking every part of Germany it could reach. It lapped at his jaw, his neck, even the hand that held him. 

Germany chuckled at his efforts. “Easy there. Let’s just get you something to eat, huh?” He glanced up at Italy. 

Italy was looking at Germany with some kind of unreadable expression, an easy smile playing at the corners of his lips. 

“What?” Germany asked, wrapping the puppy in his coat. 

“It’s just sweet, you know? Are you going to keep it?” 

Germany hummed to himself, holding the bundle to his chest. He smiled. “I’d have to ask Prussia first… then keep it regardless of his answer.” He looked back up at Italy. “Let’s take it home.”

Italy smiled. 

The two raced into Germany’s house, Germany clutching the bundled up puppy to his chest and leaning against the door. He brushed his wet bangs away from his face. “That,” he huffed.   
“Was a waste of hair gel.” 

Italy laughed, toeing off his shoes and taking his hat off. “Yeah.” He wrung water out of his hat. “What a waste of a nice outfit.” 

Germany smiled slightly, hearing the distant barking of his dogs. He looked down at the puppy in his arms. “I hope it’s been around big dogs before.” 

Italy shed his jacket, shivering. “I’m sure it’ll be okay. Maybe they’ll be good playmates!”

The dogs’ nails scratched against the floorboards as they bolted toward their master, slowing down and quieting, sniffing as they realized something was different. 

Germany crouched down, opening the bundle slightly to reveal the pitiful puppy. “Easy, now.” He warned his dogs. 

Aster poked his head forward, sniffing the puppy with interest. His tail started wagging. The two others followed his lead, each with similar reactions. 

“And you were worried!” Italy said, crouching down to greet Germany’s dogs. “Where’s Prussia?” 

“At Austria and Hungary’s.” Germany answered. “So I guess he can’t tell me we can’t have another dog.” 

“Guess not.” Italy said, with a smile. He shuddered. 

“Cold?” Germany asked. 

Italy nodded. “I’m fine. I just have to wait for my clothes to dry.” 

Germany straightened again. “No, you can just borrow some of mine. I’ll run upstairs and grab some. Make yourself comfortable.” 

“Thanks!” Italy said, also straightening. As Germany thundered up the stairs, he made his way to the living room and sat down on the floor of the living room. 

The dogs followed his progress, sniffing at his arms as if they were looking for another puppy. 

Italy chuckled, reaching forward and petting all the dogs in turn. “You all excited for a new playmate?” He rubbed his arms, peering over at the fireplace. “You think Germany would be too upset if I built a fire for us?” He reached forward and scrunched Berlitz’s face together, smiling at the wrinkles. “Do you? I think it’ll be okay.” 

He got up off the floor with a slight grunt, picking up a sheet of newspaper from a neat pile in the cabinet. He also grabbed several pieces of tinder from a basket. “Where’s the lighter?” Italy asked, rummaging around the cabinet. He frowned and stood, the dogs following Italy with interest as he made his way over to the hat stand. Prussia’s faux leather jacket hung on there, likely left behind out of fear of ruining it. Italy reached into a pocket. He pulled out a blue cigarette lighter and frowned. “Prussia started his smoking habit again, huh?” He glanced over at the dogs. “What do you say we hide his cigarettes again, huh?” 

Blackie pressed his head into Italy’s hand. 

Italy grinned, reaching back into the pocket. Nothing. He searched the other, just finding some loose change. He frowned, turning to the fireplace. “Maybe when he comes back with them.” 

Soon enough, a fire was crackling. The heat seeped into Italy’s wet clothes. He hummed as he heard Germany’s loud footsteps down the stairs. 

“They’re not the nicest. Sorry.” Germany apologized, handing Italy a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. 

Italy accepted the pile with gratitude, looking up at Germany. “No problem at all! They’re warm, they’re dry, those are my standards for now.” He stood up, making his way to the bathroom. Before Germany got sick, he would have just changed right then and there. But since Italy learned about Germany’s malady, there had been minute changes in their relationship. They haven’t shared a bed since. Italy hasn’t changed in front of him. Italy’s comments about Germany’s muscles had been altogether forgotten. 

Germany was left alone with the puppy in his arms. The dogs crowded around him, sniffing curiously. The puppy, though timid, didn’t seem altogether upset with the attention. 

Italy padded down the stairs, absolutely swimming in the clothes Germany provided. “Do you want to change? You’re still in your wet clothes.” 

Germany glanced down at his T-shirt, which was clinging to his body uncomfortably. “Yes. Thank you. Would you mind holding the puppy? I’ll take the other dogs to my room so the puppy can eat by itself and not worry about the others stealing its food.” 

Italy reached forward, his hands opening and closing excitedly. “Yes! Please let me hold it! It’s so cute!” 

Germany handed over the bundle, whistling sharply and grunting a German command. The dogs followed him up the stairs and into his spotless room. He shut the door behind him and locked it, pulling off his short and draping it onto his desk. He didn’t want to throw a wet shirt into the laundry and make the rest of his clothes smell bad. He pulled on a dry blank, white t-shirt and another pair of sweatpants. He finished, looking in the mirror. His hair was completely undone. Without any product in it, a few awkward waves were prominent in his bangs. He groaned. _“With these clothes and this hair, I look ridiculous.”_ He looked over to his dogs. 

The three of them were sitting on their bed. Blackie was already asleep. 

_“Stay in here. I’ll get you in a bit.”_ He left the room, descending the steps once again. He appeared in the living room, stopping in the doorway and leaning against the door frame. 

Italy sat on the sofa, his legs crossed. He was softly singing some kind of Italian song to the dog, pausing and chuckling when the dog would wriggle out of its bundle and plant its front paws on his chest, licking his face. “Stop! Your breath is so gross!” Draped in Germany’s clothes, it looked almost… domestic. Germany’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, but he dismissed the feeling. Not now. He could think about that later. They had a puppy to feed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus. One more chapter, an epilogue, then we done. Why does it take so long to write these, but so short to post chapters??


	13. Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, a realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice there are now fifteen chapters. This is to make a sneak peek for my new, upcoming fic, as per usual. 
> 
> Enjoy the end of this fic! There's an epilogue coming!

A week and a half later, Germany and his brother were sitting in the living room. Prussia sat in the easy chair, hunched over his phone. Germany assumed he was posting an update about the new dog which, contrary to his belief, Prussia was thrilled by. Germany sat on the floor with the puppy, a bag of dog treats between his crossed legs as he attempted to teach her new tricks. Lined up on the couch, the other three dogs watched with incredible interest. At least, they watched Germany’s hand.

_“Andrea, sit.” _

Andrea stared quizzically up at Germany, her eyes on the treat in his hand. Learning about treats was the quickest lesson she learned. 

Germany furrowed his brow. _“Sit, Andrea.”_ He heard a clatter, looking over at Prussia. 

Prussia had dropped his phone onto the floor, staring at Germany with blatant shock. 

Germany raised an eyebrow. _“Something wrong, Gilbert?” _

Prussia blinked. _“I…” _he recovered, trying for a winning smile. _“Nothing. Just realized something.” _

_“What?” _Germany raised an eyebrow. 

Prussia leaned down to pick up his phone, sitting back in his chair with what could only be described as an ecstatic energy. _“Nothing. I don’t know. No, I don’t want to share. Guess you’ll figure it out soon enough.” _

_“What’s that even supposed to mean?”_ Germany asked, frustrated. 

Prussia merely shrugged to himself, beaming down at his phone. He snickered to himself. 

Germany shot a glare at his brother, distracted from his frustration as Andrea lurched forward and snatched the dog treat from his hand. 

Several days passed, Germany almost completely forgetting about the odd exchange that had transpired. They passed as usual, with paperwork and exercise, with meals and baking, with walking the dogs and reading books in the sunlight. With thinking of Italy. Seeing him in everything that surrounded him. Looking at the autumn scenery around his house and considering how much Italy would like it. Setting down his beer bottle when working outside and noticing that the sun, when it shined through it, was the exact color of Italy's eyes. Playing fetch with Andrea and wishing he had invited Italy over to enjoy it with him. While it was crazy to Germany that he was thinking about him to this much, at this point it didn't surprise him. It was a new norml in his world. A week later, It was around midnight. Prussia was off doing something, but Germany wasn’t sure what. He was sure that it would end up with him driving somewhere to pick him up, Prussia being completely drunk off his ass and giggling to himself. He was feeling rather drowsy, reading on the couch in sweat pants and a sweatshirt when he heard tires squeal in his driveway. Germany froze in his seat. Was Prussia driving drunk? It was severely out of character for him, but stranger things have happened. Fearful, he bolted out of his seat, fast-walking to the door just as the doorbell rang. He whipped the door open. Expecting Prussia, he was somewhat surprised when he saw the top of a head. He looked down a couple inches, seeing Italy. 

Italy was flushed, in his pajamas, and looking somewhere between exhilarated and terrified. His reddish hair looked slightly tangled. Germany noticed the windows to his car were open. 

“Italy, what-” 

“I’m in love with you!” Italy blurted out. "I realized it a few minutes ago, but I don't know how long I was!"

Germany blinked. “What-?”

“I’m in love with your eyes, and your hair whether it’s down or up, but mostly down. I’m in love with the way you move, and how you walk, and how you speak. I’m in love with your voice, the way you carry yourself, and- and how you smile when you think no-one’s looking.” Italy took a deep breath, like the confession was stealing the air from his lungs. “I’m in love with how kind you are, and how much you care for me and the other people you love. I’m in love with your patience, and the way you see potential in me when I have given you no damn reason to hold on in the first place. I’m in- I- I love you, and I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to be.” 

“I…” Germany paused. “You- you love me?” 

Italy nodded. “I’m almost certain! Have…” his smile faltered. “Have you still been coughing? Please tell me you haven’t.” 

Germany stared off. He then remembered Prussia’s ‘realization’. He smiled to himself. “No. How did I not realize?” He looked back up at Italy, feeling this indescribable joy within himself. “You really-?”

Italy launched forward, wrapping his arms around Germany, nestling his head underneath his chin. “Yes, yes! I do!” He pulled away. “I do… so much.” 

Germany looked down at Italy, smiling, unguarded. 

Italy reached up and, grabbing Germany’s head, pulling his lips down to his. 

Germany’s eyes flared open in surprise, slipping close as his arms wrapped around Italy’s waist. He pulled Italy’s body flush upon his own, making it his complete life goal at that time to enjoy everything about that moment. Remember it and file it away into his permanent memory forever. Italy’s smell. The way his hair felt in Germany’s hands as he slipped his fingers through it. The pull of the fabric of Germany’s jacket as Italy gripped it in his hands, pulling Germany closer against him. Germany was so engrossed in the moment, he failed to hear a car drive up. 

“Whooo!” 

Germany pulled away and leapt apart from Italy, seeing Prussia standing out of the sunroof of France’s car. 

“Yeah!” Prussia crowed, pumping a fist in the air. “That’s my brother!” 

France stopped the car, smiling. “Shit, Prussia, you didn’t tell us Italy would be here!” 

Spain rotated in the front seat to face France. “Drive away, drive away! Give them privacy!”

“I’m trying!” France put the car in reverse.

Prussia almost doubled over the roof of the car with the speed France reversed the car, slamming his head on the roof of the car. “Agh! Mother of God!” 

The car stopped. 

Spain cursed. “You okay, Prussia?” 

Prussia just whimpered in pain.

Italy turned to look up at Germany. 

Germany turned, meeting his gaze. 

Italy broke into a snicker at the scene, Germany following close behind. 

Germany looked at him. Let his eyes roam over Italy's face as he laughed. At the flush on his cheeks at being found in the midst of their confession. He saw all this and tried to remember. Tried to memorize every little detail. 

“Do you want to take this inside?” Italy asked through laughter. 

Germany looked at his brother and his friends, shaking his head. “I would love to.” 

Italy started toward the door, holding out an expectant hand. 

Germany looked at it. Considered it. It almost seemed too good to be true. As he listened to the idiotic laughter behind him and looked up at Italy, framed in the golden light of the house, he let his hand fall into Italy’s and discovered it was very much real as the long, narrow fingers grasped his own. And, pulling him, Italy led Germany into their future together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lawd, folks, the epilogue, then we done!
> 
> This was a ride. Fun fic to write (definitely not as much fun to read. I had no idea how loooong this fic was until I started posting it). But you know what, the length felt perfect to me to convey the story. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The true end of the story, the happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, folks. It's short, but the story wouldn't be complete without it.

The beginning of their relationship was clumsy, but charmingly so. The two relished the honeymoon stage of their dating life, though Germany noticed little things about Italy that had annoyed him before the relationship had, unexpectedly, continued to annoy him. Little things like how he would leave his socks on the floor whenever he came over. He knew Italy felt the same way. At first, he had complained that Germany had seemed cold in their relationship and Germany had struggled to find ways to express himself. But he would pick up those socks with only little complaint, and Italy would endure Germany learning to love someone out loud. All was becoming well. 

One day, about four months into their official relationship, Germany was confronted with Italy at the door, holding a vase of blue cornflowers. 

“What’s this?” Germany asked, smiling slightly as Italy handed them over. 

“Flowers! For you!” Italy answered with a grin. 

“Is there any occasion?” Germany waved Italy into his house, setting the vase in the center of the counter and admiring them. He had never considered receiving flowers. So far, he could say he was a fan. 

Italy avoided Germany’s gaze, coming around the counter next to him. He pressed his side into Germany’s, laying his head on Germany’s shoulder. “Nothing, really.” 

Germany raised an eyebrow, still looking at the flowers. “You’re a terrible liar.” 

Italy huffed out a sigh. “It’s stupid.” 

“If you’re this spun up about it, it can’t be that stupid.” Germany assured. With the slightest bit of awkwardness, he turned his head and pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of Italy’s head. 

Italy smiled in appreciation at the contact and Germany's attempt at expressing his affection.

“You can tell me.” 

Italy lifted his head off of Germany’s shoulder, looking down at the counter. “I just thought… you know, you gave me all those flowers. I wanted to give you some for once.” 

Germany blinked in question.

“Maybe that seems self-important, or- or weird, or whatever, but…” Italy looked up to Germany. “Me thinking of it that way kind of made it easier to cope with it when it was happening, I guess. It feels really selfish.” 

Germany shook his head. “I don’t think it does. If you think about it, it kind of makes sense. In a way, I suppose I was giving you flowers.” 

“I just…” Italy paused, unsure. His eyes searched Germany’s. “After all you went through, all the pain, all the waiting, me getting you flowers seems like the least I could do. You know?” 

Germany tilted his head, staring down at the man he loved. At the man who loved him back so unconditionally. Who still felt guilty even now for something he had no control over. He held his arms open. 

Italy buried himself in Germany’s chest, sighing as Germany’s arms wrapped around him. 

“I love them.” Germany muttered into Italy’s hair. He felt Italy smile against his chest. 

As they dated for years, as they finally got married, as they navigated marriage and their lives together, there was always a vase of cornflowers on the counter. When one began to wilt, another took its place. Though Germany was never one for frivolities, this was one that he never minded. And as he would stand at the counter making coffee every morning, he would stare at them as Italy padded behind him and hugged him from behind. Framed in the sunlight of their home, in the brightness of his life, he would smile to himself and shut his eyes, finding that he was thankful for every dreaded flower he had coughed up. For every petal, there seemed to be a year of happiness. And, Germany reflected, if coughing up flowers bought him this much happiness, he would have been content to cough them up forever for the sheer joy he felt every day with Italy.


	15. PREVIEW: Upcoming Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A summary of my upcoming fic where Kiku, thanks to a new exchange program, finds himself working for the NYPD as a police officer. He meets his strange new roommate, Alfred, only to discover that they may be seeing each other for more than what they originally thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited for this one! I have wanted to write an AmeriPan fic for so long, and I had the perfect idea!

Kiku was startled awake as he felt someone tap his shoulder. Pulling off his sleep mask, he was confronted with the sight of a kind-looking woman with her hair chopped at her chin. She was sporting a matching navy blazer and pencil skirt, the airline logo stamped onto the breast pocket of her uniform. 

“Excuse me, sir.” She said with a professional grin. “We’ll be landing the plane soon. Would you please buckle your seat belt?” 

Kiku blinked. “Of course. Thank you.” 

“Thank you!” The flight attendant responded, bustling down the aisle to wake more slumbering passengers. 

Yawning, Kiku peered out the window. Though they were still high up in the sky, he could track their rapid descent as the city below drew ever closer. America. The land of opportunity. Down there, he would be picked up by his new roommate (whom he’s never met) and start his transfer job at the New York Police Department. Hopefully, America would live up to its nickname. 

The plane landed, Kiku grimacing at the turbulence as the landing gear descended. The plane slowed to a halt, Kiky unbuckled his seatbelt. He waited patiently as a man with reddish-brown hair and sunglasses stood, grumbling, preparing to take down his carry-on luggage. He muttered out a quiet string of curses as the bag fell on his head. 

“Are you okay?” Kiku asked, concerned. 

“Fine.” The man grumbled. “Thanks.” He made his way out of the cramped seats, moving into the slow stream of people that was the middle aisle. Kiku stood, content in his spot until the people filed out. He didn’t want to be cramped up in that crowd of people, shuffling his feet for only a couple inches of space. A couple fellow introverts also stood in their spots, waiting for their window of opportunity. Finally, the space cleared out and Kiku stood, retrieving his overhead luggage as well. He filed out of the plane. 

He entered the airport, looking around as he tried to find the luggage claim. He looked around at the signs, feeling a sense of overwhelming fill his chest with apprehension. All the signs here were in English. Kiku knew English, of course. His older brother, Yao, had made it a point to teach it to him and his siblings. “The language of business and education”, he called it. Kiku had thought it useless, at the time. Why on earth would he learn English? He planned on staying in China for the rest of his life. But, he decided to himself, life works in strange ways. As he got older, he saw the opportunity within America. He didn’t want to move there, exactly, but he at least wanted to see it. So when he saw there were applications for the foreign exchange program in New York, he would be a fool to let it slide. 

Perhaps he was a fool to accept it. 

He finally found the baggage claim, searching for two plain, black suitcases. They both had red ribbon bordered with gold on the edges. He read on a travel website that this would help him locate his luggage easily. When Kiku had asked his brother to bring ribbon home from the store his last day in China, he hadn’t realized the red and gold had a special meaning. “The red is lucky.” 

“Isn’t yellow lucky too?” Kiku had asked. 

Yao had shrugged. “I figured you could use extra luck.” 

At the time, Kiku sent him a level stare and continued eating his dinner out of nervousness. But, he thought at present, perhaps Yao was right.

He found his luggage and breathed out a short sigh of relief. Now all that was left to do was find his roommate. He was a little nervous, as he had never seen him before. Hell, he’d never even heard his voice. They had only interacted through text, but he had checked the roommate’s references. Some Alfred Jones that he was supposed to be boarding with. Mr. Jones’ past roommates gave Kiku good feedback. Apparently Jones was a good roommate, albeit a little messy. But Mr. Jones was supposed to have some sort of sign with his name on it, so at least he wouldn’t be too lost. 

He journeyed over to the pickup area, his eyes casting around for his name. He saw many different signs, mostly on poster board. Many of them were plain, but one of them in particular stood out. 

It was decorated in a myriad of red, white, and blue. American and Chinese flags were taped all over it, drawn all over it, except for the middle where the name “Honda Kiku” was scrawled out in thick, black Sharpie. Kiku’s eyes floated from the sign up to who was holding it. 

A man in a white t-shirt and slightly faded blue jeans. And red sneakers. His hair was blonde and shiny, his skin tan. His eyes were a clear, crystal blue that reminded him of a summer sky. Kiku blinked these thoughts away. Okay, so the stereotypical blond haired, blue-eyed American boy. He made his way over. “You are Mr. Jones, right?” 

“Alfred, please.” Alfred lowered his sign, reaching forward with his right hand to shake Kiku’s. “I mean, we’re going to be roommates. May as well be on first-name basis.” 

Kiku paused, taken aback by Alfred’s immediate breach into his personal space. He swallowed his discomfort and leaned forward to shake Alfred’s hand. When reading upon American etiquette, he read a lot about hand shaking. He should have expected this. But the first ten minutes after stepping off a plane? “Apologies, Alfred. Thank you for accepting me into your home. I must confess, I was surprised that you would be picking me up personally.” 

Alfred shrugged, dropping the hand. “No problem. I figured I should give you a good welcome. How was the plane ride?”

“Better than expected.” Kiku answered, relieved at the loss of contact. 

Alfred waved Kiku toward him. “Can I take one of your bags?” 

“Yes, please. Thank you.” Kiku said, handing Alfred the lighter case. He made his way with Alfred, discovering very soon that he needed to pick up his pace. Apparently, Alfred was a fast walker. 

“Oh, sorry. Do I need to slow down? Sometimes I forget how fast I’m going.” Alfred laughed, slowing his pace. 

“No, please.” Kiku said, secretly relieved that Alfred was slowing down. “Do not slow on my account.”

“It’s no problem.” Alfred waved away the apology. “So you said the plane ride was ‘better than expected’. Have you never been on a plane before?” 

“No.” Kiku said. “Have you?” 

Alfred shrugged as they made their way out of the airport. “A little bit when I first got out of high school. I had a bit of a thing for travel. I went all around Europe and a little bit of the Asian countries a little later.” 

“Really?” Kiku asked, his interest peaked. “Did you ever go to Japan?” 

“No.” Alfred answered. “But I went to China. I spent enough time there for me to know that you don’t speak with a Chinese accent. Where are you from?” 

The two left the airport, wandering out into the parking lot. 

Kiku frowned internally. Did all Americans probe people this much for information? Regardless, it would be rude to refuse it. “Japan.” 

“What brought you to China?” Alfred asked. 

Kiku cleared his throat. “A death in the family.” 

Alfred grimaced. “Ooh. I’m sorry.” 

“There is nothing you could have done.” Kiku said, uncomfortable with the conversation.

There was a long moment of pause as the two walked further out of the airport, each apparently searching for something to say.

“I brought an Uber. I hope you don’t mind too much.” Alfred said. 

“Not at all.” Kiku assured. “I used Uber frequently in China.” Why was he divulging so much information? He never gave this much away back at home… perhaps it was the awkward conversation that got him to say something. 

“No kiddin’?” Alfred asked as a black car pulled up. 

“No.” 

“They didn’t have Uber back when I went to China… but then again, they didn’t have Uber anywhere when I graduated.” He knocked on the passenger’s side of the car. The window was rolled down. Alfred leaned in slightly. “Hey, my buddy has some luggage. Would you mind popping the trunk?” 

The slightest crease formed between Kiku’s brows. Buddy? His thoughts were interrupted as the trunk was popped. Kiku eased his luggage in the back, rounding the car and taking a seat in the back seat with Alfred. 

“My place is only a few minutes from here, so you can rest and get some of that jet lag off you.” He said. 

Kiku shut the door. The car started the drive. “Thank you very much.” 

“No problem, man.” 

About ten minutes later, the Uber stopped in front of an apartment complex. Kiku furrowed his brow as he unloaded the luggage. It looked about the same as any apartment complex back in Tokyo, but it was still odd to see something so familiar here in America. 

“Need any help with that, dude?” Alfred asked. 

“No, but thank you.” Kiku said. The Uber drove away. 

“So in case you forgot, we’re on 76th street, apartment 17. A good way to remember is 1776.” Alfred reminded him as he turned the key into the apartment building. 

Kiku looked up quizzically. 

“That’s the year the declaration of independence was signed.” Alfred said as the door opened. 

“Oh. Thank you.” Kiku nodded, not sure how he was supposed to respond here. 

Alfred started the walk into the apartment building and led him up a flight of stairs. “We’re on the second floor, so we don’t have to work too hard to carry groceries up.” 

Kiku peered around the ground floor and stairwell. It looked clean, at least. “That is a relief.” He remembered how much of a headache it was to carry all of Yao’s groceries up the stairs. Kiku had suggested they use the elevator, but Yao had an irrational fear of elevators. Something about the elevator malfunctioning while they were on it. Besides, Yao reasoned. They needed the exercise. 

Alfred stopped in front of a door with a silver 17 on the door, jimmying the key into the lock and turning. “Here we are,” he said, pushing the door open. “Home sweet home.”   
Kiku peered through the door Alfred held open and stepped in. The wheels of his luggage bumped up as they crossed the threshold. The interior was all light walls and beige carpet. The entryway had a door into a small kitchen, immediately exiting into a living room. A large couch was in the middle, throw blankets draped over the back and folded into a basket next o the sofa. A TV was against the wall, sheltering the rest of the room from sunlight that streamed in through glass doors to a small balcony. Against the wall, a short flight of stairs led up to where Kiku assumed was the bathrooms and bedrooms. Tucked underneath the stairs was a closet. 

“It isn’t much, but it’s home.” 

“It looks lovely.” Kiku assured, stepping farther in. So this was his new home. At least for three years. 

Alfred followed him in, a shy smile crossing his face. “Thanks. We like it pretty well.” 

Kiku frowned and turned. “We?” 

Alfred gave Kiku an apologetic smile and reached over to the closet and opened it. Resting among the pairs of shoes was a cat.

Kiku’s frown deepend and he stepped away. “What..?” 

“Okay, don’t freak out.” Alfred said, reaching down and picking up the cat. It was incredibly fat. “I know I didn’t tell you about it before, but… I didn’t know you all that well and I was worried you would tell the landlord. Pets aren’t technically allowed up here. Doesn’t stop the landlord, but…” He added the last part bitterly, like they had argued over this particular subject before. 

“I don’t mind the cat.” Kiku lied. He did mind the cat. He was not a cat person. Or a dog person. He wasn’t a pet person. But, he would swallow his complaints. It was a reasonably priced apartment close to his work. 

“I hope it isn’t a huge deal.” 

“Not whatsoever.” Another lie. 

“To make up for my lie,” Alfred proposed, setting the cat down. “I propose we order in for tonight. I would suggest pizza.” 

“That should more than make up for it.” Kiku said. He wasn’t in for the hassle of making dinner or anything like that. He just wanted to eat, unpack his stuff, and sleep. 

“Sweet!” Alfred reached into his pocket. “Lucky for us, I have the best pizza shop in town on speed dial. We should have our pizza within a half hour!”

Kiku swallowed the question on why Alfred had the pizza place on speed dial. “Excuse me, but if you would not mind showing me to my room, I would like to unpack my bag.” 

“Hm?” Alfred asked, holding his phone up to his ear. “Oh, yeah, duh. Down the hall, last door on the right. You’re right across from me.” 

“Ah. Thank you.” Kiku said, lifting his suit case to carry up the stairs. He made his way to the landing, 

The landing was a short hallway. Just two doorways on either side of the hallway and one on the end that Kiku decided was probably the bathroom. He opened the door to the room and blew a sigh out of his nose. It looked exactly like it did in the picture. 

Tan walls, beige carpet. A twin bed scooched along the left wall, under clean white sheets and a blue comforter. A desk was scooched underneath the shut window, a closet along the right wall. 

“It isn’t much,” Kiku said as he set his bag down. “But it is home.” 

The two ate their pizza in silence while watching a movie. The two had settled on ‘Godzilla’. Kiku reluctantly accepted, knowing it was an attempt at reaching out with a movie that both their cultures had in common. Kiku was not a big fan of action movies, but he didn’t let Alfred know. As Kiku was finishing his last slice of pizza, Alfred stood and stretched.

“Sorry, Kiku.” He said. “But I should probably head off to bed. I’m going to head to the gym tomorrow, then straight to work.” 

“It is okay.” Kiku assured, swallowing he last of his crust. “I should probably go to bed too. First day on the job tomorrow.” 

“Really?” Alfred asked, picking up his blanket and throwing it into the basket with the others. “This soon after you arrived?” 

“Apparently they are excited to have me.” Kiku said. “I will do my best not to disappoint them.” 

“Oh, come on, Keeks.” Alfred said. 

Kiku flinched slightly at the nickname. 

“You’ll do great! You seem like a pretty cool guy so far.” 

“Thank you.” Kiku stood, folded his blanket, and rested it on top of Alfred’s. “Would you like some help cleaning up?” 

Alfred waved his suggestion away. “’Nah, I don’t want you to clean up after that long flight. You just head on up to bed.” 

“If you insist.” 

“I do. Goodnight, Kiku.” 

“Goodnight, Alfred.” Kiku said, starting up the stairs. He made it to his room, changing and sliding under the covers. The entire time, he was lost in thought. Tomorrow was his first day at work. He had studied for years to be a police officer. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. It was just a new station, full of new people, in a new country with new laws. 

He was screwed. 

Okay, think of something else, think of something else. It would do no good to worry about it. He passed the preliminary exams, he was fine. Think of something else. Anything else. Alfred was nice, he supposed. Pretty friendly, kind of sweet. He was awkward, but in an endearing kind of way. He certainly knows how to make an impression, Kiku thought with a slight smile as he closed his eyes. Perhaps the two would get a little closer. Perhaps, if they worked at it, they could even become friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty big project, so I'll mostly be posting drabbles until I get it finished. I'm also taking requests at my tumblr: JuliusSneezer's Hetalia Fics. Drop a line if you want!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment! It takes me hours to make a chapter, it takes about two minutes to give me advice or say something else!


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